


Winter is Coming

by DancingSnowflakes23



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, I know I am delusional, Jon is King in the North, No Bran the Broken, Only based on the books, Post - A Dance With Dragons, To bridge the time till WOW, no mad queen Dany
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 34,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27941792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingSnowflakes23/pseuds/DancingSnowflakes23
Summary: A continuation of the last book A Dance with Dragons, which will mostly focus on the main POVs namely: Jon, Arya, Sansa, Daenerys, Tyrion, and some Bran stuff, with some side POVs: probably Cersei, Jaime, Barristan, Arianne, and JonCon.
Relationships: Arianne Martell/Aegon VI Targaryen, Arya Stark & Daenerys Targaryen, Bran Stark & Meera Reed, Brienne & Jaime Lannister, Harrold Hardyng/Sansa Stark, Jon Snow & Arya Stark, Jon Snow & Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen (eventual), Rickon Stark & Jon Snow, Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Stannis Baratheon & Jon Snow, Tyrion Lannister & Daenerys Targaryen, Tyrion Lannister/Daenerys Targaryen (one-sided), Val/Jon Snow (minor)
Comments: 71
Kudos: 110





	1. Jon

**Jon**

_Ghost_ , he thought as he was prowling on his four legs through the thick snow.

It was like a rhyme inside his head.

_Ghost. Ghost. Ghost._

Was it his name? He couldn’t remember. All he could remember was the cold and the smell of blood. The black crows had stabbed his wolf brother, but in turn they had been killed by his sharp teeth.

They had screamed and struggled but it had been no use. They had died nevertheless, though he had not been allowed to feast upon their flesh. The humans from beyond the large ice wall had come to kill them.

One of them, a female, had chased him away.

"Ghost!“ she had shouted. "Run!“

_Ghost._

He had listened when she had said that name, but it hadn’t felt right.

_Ghost._

That was not his real name, so much he knew.

The battle had continued without him after he had been chased away by the female. Ever since he hadn’t stopped his wanderings.

No one had seen him slip away as he had slipped away through the ice tunnels beneath the icy wall, following the smell of a bleeding rabbit.

He has found his supper by sunrise and had devoured it not long after. His belly filled he continued his chase through the wide-spread woods surrounding the icy wall and the black castle beyond.

The smell of death was lingering everywhere. Ghost knew they were there. These unnatural creatures.

He had never seen them, but he knew they were hiding in the shadows of the night.

And while one could not see them with one’s bare eyes, they were always there.

Watching and prying upon their next victim.

Ghost was not afraid of them. Not when he was close to the weirwoods that could be found here and there in these black forests.

The dead creatures didn’t like them.

They were poison to them.

Fresh snow was falling from the sky when he reached the large weirwood tree. Why he had come here, he didn’t know.

Was it the smell of the humans that had brought him here? Or was it the smell of his wolf brother?

He couldn’t say.

He had watched the funeral procession from afar, as he continued to pad through the woods. The snow was crisp and fresh, crumbling beneath his paws like crunchy icing on a cake.

The weirwood grove stood lonely in a landscape of snow, it’s crimson leaves whispering and the tree’s face, always watching him with it’s tree eyes.

The crows carried his wolf brother upon a wooden pallet, his body cold and hard.

Two of the brother’s carried torches and behind them walked the humans from beyond the wall.

The female was among them and leading them was the Red Woman.

He didn‘t like her. She smelled of burnt flesh and death. She was dangerous. His wolf brother didn’t like it either.

He watched them from afar, as they made a heap of wood. Higher and higher, the heap grew while two of the crows continued to shout and curse at the others.

He could not understand their words from afar but he knew their smell. The smell filled him with anger, a memory he had buried deep inside his heart.

These two had killed his wolf brother.

He wanted to tear them limp and bones but the humans would chase him away. He had no other choice but to watch them.

The heap was finished when the sun had reached its high point, looming over the woods like a flickering candle.

He felt it’s warmth only dimly, but that was not necessary. He had his thick fur and the wind had eased.

The humans had also brought torches and were now closing in on the heap they had built.

The two crows struggled and whined when they were bound on the pyre. He would hear their howl and wanted to join in.

Then, the Red Woman stepped forward and raised her arms to the sky, whispering not howling how it ought to be done.

He didn’t understand her words but when the others dipped their burning sticks unto the wooden heap he drew closer.

The flames grew fast and the men’s screams only intensified as they started to feast upon their black cloaks.

He could smell signed wool and then flesh. Their screams were bright and loud, almost as bright as the sound of a wailing babe.

He felt no compassion for the men. He hated them. He wanted to kill them himself. These bastards.

Bastard.

It was a familiar word on his tongue. That’s what everyone had called his wolf brother.

And he had wanted to kill another bastard. The one that had taken his wolf sister.

He had wanted to cut out his heart.

It was like a blurry memory in the darkness but the names fled from him like a maid from her ugly groom.

Ghost.

Bastard.

These terms blurred together like an ill-conceived painting. He wanted to remember, but he couldn’t.

The smell of burned flesh lay heavy nose as he came to stand in front of the heap of wood. It was now covered with thick flames, rising into the sky like black plumes.

This wolf’s brother was burning with them.

That made him sad.

"Ghost,“ a familiar voice said. It was the female who had chased him away. She touched his head. "There you are.“

He knew it then. Ghost was his name, but it didn’t feel right.

"Don’t fret,“ she told him. "Jon has been avenged.“

 _Jon_ , he repeated to himself. _That name was familiar to him._

_Jon._

_Jon Snow._

That was the name of his wolf brother.

No, another voice joined in. It was a high-pitched voice. The voice of a child. You are no wolf. You are Jon Snow. My brother.

The voice pierced him like an arrow.

_Bran._

That was the name and when he lifted his head, he saw his pale face shining in the grimace engraved upon the pale bark of the weirwood.

_Bran?_

_Are you there inside the weirwood?_

_Jon_ , Bran called out to him once more. His face was as pale as the bark of the wairwood and his auburn hair disappeared in the crown of the weirwood. _It’s me. Your brother. You must remember._

Jon didn't remember then. It all happened so quickly that he felt the sudden urge to vomit. He shook his head, trying to forget these memories.

He wanted to stay like that.

He wanted to be a wolf.

He wanted to be free.

_No!_

_You must remember!_

_Jon!_

The flames grew higher and higher, this feeling of distress worse than before.

It can’t be, he thought. I must be trapped like Orell in his eagle, only I am Ghost.

Orell had been the Wildling he had killed a long time ago when he had still been a boy. That had been before he was elected Lord Commander and before he had killed the boy like Maester Aemon had asked of him.

He looked down on himself once more. He was truly Ghost. He had four legs, all white, and his nose was wet and frozen at the same time.

He needed to be sure.

He forgot his woe and drew closer, the smell of the smoke making it hard to find his wolf brother.

He stopped abruptly in front of the flames, the Red Woman’s robes shielding his gaze, but when he tried to open them again, he felt cold and dead.

He fell into a pit of darkness. He felt as if he was drowning in a sea of blackness.

He felt the heat as well, the flames touching his body, healing and closing his wounds…

He opened his ice once more, a fat moon standing over a sea of stars. The moon was laughing and welcoming him, like a maid ready to kiss her lover.

Jon woke cold and sat up on his pallet covered with furs. He quickly pulled the pelt around his naked form and tried to chase away the cold.

Yet, he continued to shake.

He was so cold and his body ached from the top of his head all the way down to this toes.

He rubbed his eyes and looked around the dimly -lit room. There was a single candle burning atop the table and there was a fire burning in the hearth.

The room seemed familiar, but a terrible headache was making his headache.

How did he get here?

Slowly, he tried to move but nearly fell down when he put his feet on the ground. The pain returned freshly when he hit the ground.

Yet, the pain told him that he was still alive.

Now, he remembered the daggers in the darkness. He remembered Arya and the Bastard of Bolton. He remembered the betrayal.

The sound of the door chased away these memories and announced the arrival of three familiar faces.

There was Satin, staring at him with a face as pale as ash. Val, her grey eyes wide in shock. And at last, Tormund.

He was rubbing his beard as if to wake himself from a dream.

Jon opened his mouth, his voice rattling. Every movement was painful.

"Ghost…Where is Ghost?“

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always felt the resurrection of Jon in the show was an utter failure. It felt as if they didn't even care. Sadly, WoW nowhere near in sight. Sigh.


	2. Tyrion

**Tyrion**

Tyrion Lannister was walking into the tent of the Commander of the Second Born, Ben Plumm. It was late in the evening and the commander had called for him. Ben Plumm was sitting on a mountain of pillows on the floor. It was nice and cool in the tent and there was a gameboard in front of the commander. He probably doesn't feel like losing in the same game over and over again. When he entered the tent he waved him over to the seat across from him.

“Let us sit down and play."

Tyrion laughed and rubbed his hands together.

“Well, I have to obey my commander. Plus, you did me a great favor. I've been sitting in my tent with Ser Jorah and Penny for days now. I don't want to talk too badly about my companions, but they can be really difficult at times. And when I leave the tent I am always wrapped in fabric or iron from head to toe. "

Ben Plumm frowned. “Well, I am glad that I am not holding you back from important matters. Will we play or not? "

Tyrion smiled. "Gladly."

Soon enough, Ben Plumm and Tyrion were picking out the pieces they wanted. Ben turned out to be a worthy opponent. But the game was a minor matter for Tyrion. His main focus was on trying to convince Ben Plumm to switch sides again.

“You are not bad, my lord. You are a fearless and clever player,“ Tyrion complimented the man in front of him.

"Oh, you flatter me, Lord Tyrion."

“I'm only telling the truth. You want to win your battles, don't you? "

Ben Plumm frowned.

"Of course I want that."

Now was the right time to strike.

“Tell me purely hypothetically. If you had to make a bet who would win a siege …On when would you bet? A poorly organized, inexperienced pack of poorly trained slave soldiers and traitorous mercenaries led by a handful of unsuitable slave traders who are quarreling among themselves, which have also been sizzling in the sun for days and in whose camp a fatal disease has been killing thousands of their men. Or perhaps army half made up of the best foot soldiers in the world and two dragons, who are in great shape and determined to defend their homeland.“

Ben Plumm didn’t look pleased.

„I don’t like your metaphors, dwarf.“

Tyrion chuckled.

"Could it be possible that the example was a little too precise for you?"

Ben Plunn snorted.

“You want us to join Daenerys, but we can't. I betrayed her and if I ever come under her eyes again she will burn me alive. "

Tyrion nodded his head. “We don't even want to talk about the queen for now. Answer the question first. "

“You are right, the enemy has very bad prospects, is that what you want to hear? But now it's too late…I can't go back, I can only fight or flee when the battle starts. "

“Well, I think there is another alternative to fleeing or dying. Fight for her in battle, free her hostages, prove your worth and she will forgive you. "

"If she comes back,“ Ben Plumm replied doubtfully.

Tyrion sighed in frustration. 

“I'm sure we will see her again. If this girl has proven to us all over and over again, it is that she always has her way and is a true survivor. And even if not, there are still two dragons circling above our heads. When the battle comes, and we both know it is drawing ever closer, the noise and blood will attract them. You can then stand behind them with your old friends or face them with a raised lance and these soldiers who are dying from the shitting sickness. "

The last words must have moved something inside Ben Plumm.

“Let's say I take your advice, fight for Daenerys and we win. What guarantee do I have that she will forgive me? "

"Well, I have talked about it at length with Ser Jorah Mormont, the Queen's oldest friend, and he is sure she will forgive you."

Ben Plumm nodded his head in disbelief. “He would say anything to get back to his beloved dragon queen. "

"He would, but let me be honest with you. Let’s assume a miracle happens and these undisciplined slavers win. What will they do? They will pay you and you will return to your old life as a mercenary. What a wonderful prospect for the future. Dying and bleeding out on a dusty battlefield. And now try imagining the contrary. These slavers lose and you are presenting the heads of her enemies to Daenerys Targaryen and be pardoned by her. And even if she doesn’t, you will still get what I promised you and more.“

"If she lets you live."

Tyrion grinned. 

“If there is one thing I am good at, it is to survive in a world where everyone wants to kill me. Or if everything goes wrong, present me and Ser Jorah as a gift for Daenerys. How could she still be angry with you? "

There was now silence in the commander's tent.

He was looking Tyrion straight in the eye.

Then, the silence was disturbed by the sound of a mighty war horn.

Quickly, they stepped outside.

There was an uproar in the camp. Sleepy soldiers climbed out of their tents and hastily put on their ill-fitting armor.

Companies tried desperately to rally, a rider nearly trampling Tyrion. Through the commotion,

“What is that? Who is attacking us?“ Ben Plumm demanded to know from one of his subordinates.

“We are not being attacked,“ the man replied. "These strangers are attacking our enemy. "

Tyrion was confused by his answer. "Who?“

“I don't know, but there are golden squids painted on their black sails.” '

Tyrion and Ben Pflum looked at each other and immediately knew who this banner belonged to.

…


	3. Jaime

**Jaime**

Jaime’s world was full of darkness. It smelled of grass and wood and earth. He could not hear anything beyond the whispering voices of men he didn’t know and the occasional gentle push on his shoulder.

He was blinded, but that had been Brienne’s works.

"We have no time,“ she had told him and had repeated the same word over and over again. "You must come with me and not ask any further questions.“

Thus, Jaime had not asked any further questions. On the contrary, he had followed Brienne like a sheep led by a shepherd, because he trusted her with his life.

Especially, after he had seen the fear glimmering in her bright blue eyes and the marks of a rope around her neck.

She had also mentioned the Hound, who had supposedly gotten Sansa Stark into his bloody hands.

It was like in the songs. The brave and handsome knight saving the fair made from her captors. Brienne was brave indeed, but otherwise ugly and so very trusting.

At times, Jaime still wondered if he had ever been serious about protecting Sansa Stark and had not given Brienne this task as a way to keep her away from his sister or simply to ease his guilt.

Seven hells, he wouldn’t even know what to do with Sansa Stark? It was not like he could hide the girl in the vest of his cloak and bring her back to King’s Landing, where Cersei would no doubt cut off her pretty head.

As silly as it was, Cersei was blaming her for Joff's death. As much as Tyrion, whom he had saved and who hated him now for lying to him about the little crofter’s daughter.

 _I didn’t mean for the girl to be hurt_ , Jaime thought but quickly brushed these thoughts away. _Just as I didn’t want to see Princess Elia and her children hurt._

_Fool._

There was no use in thinking about the past. Jaime was already beyond redemption.

What was worse, the nameless girl Littlefinger had sent off to marry Ramsay Bolton would lose all significance if the true Sansa Stak was found.

 _Why do you even care_ , he asked himself then. _Why would you care about the North for that matter the icy cunt Roose Bolton and his rotten son?_

Suddenly, he felt in the mood for laughter.

All his life, he had tried to live up to an ideal. He had always wanted to be a knight like Ser Arthur Dayne, only to break his oath and end up like this.

A cripple and a man who would have gladly butchered children to save his own skin.

Aye, he was a coward. He had always been one. Hiding behind his father’s gold and his pride.

He was rotten to the core, not better than Hound.

It felt like an eternity as he was walked through the darkness.

At times, he felt the cool brush of air upon his skin.

He knew he was underground and yet he did not falter.

He realized then that he didn’t care to go home.

Cersei was dead to him, the whore who had fucked with half the court while he was gone. Had he ever loved her? He could not longer remember.

Tyrion would not lie to him about that.

 _Fuck her_ , he thought. _Fuck her._

It was not long after the echoes of whispers grew ever louder, making his ears burn after such a long time of silence.

"I am sorry,“ Brienne apologized. Her voice was strained and soft as if she was about to cry. Her hands were fumbling with the blindfold and pulled it off a heartbeat later, bringing back the light he had been missing.

He looked around and found himself in a spacious cavern. The walls were made of mud, roots digging deep into the walls and crumbling stone. The only source of light were a handful of fires, but everything else was cast in blurred shadows.

Wherever he looked, he found men with capes hiding their faces.

 _The Brotherhood_ , he guessed. Brienne brought him before the bloody Brotherhood. _The one’s that have butchered the Freys._

Jaime could not help but laugh.

"So, this is your hiding place? A tree?“

"Stop your laughter, “one of the men growled. It was no other than Thoros of Myr. "This is your trial, Kingslayer.“

Jaime looked at Brienne, who cast her gaze to the ground as if she was a shy maid instead of the knight she wishes to be.

"What do these fools want from me?“

"To judge you for your crimes,“ Thoros of Myr said after he had lowered his hood. "But it won’t be I who will sit judgment over you. Someone else will.“

"Who?“ Jaime asked mockingly and looked over to Brienne. "The Hound?“

"The Hound is not here,“ the red priest told him and stepped into the light. He had changed so much. He had grown thin and his robes were rags instead of the beautiful crimson he used to garb himself in. "It was a lie the lady had to make up to lure you here. Otherwise, she would have been hanged or forced to kill you, Ser Jaime.“

Jaime looked over at Brienne once more, who still had her gaze fixed on the ground.

She lifted her head, her gaze filled with guilt.

"Bloody hell,“ he cursed to himself and shifted his attention back to the men. "This is utter madness.“

He spat on the ground before Thoros. He trembled.

Was he afraid?

He couldn’t say.

The last time he had been afraid he had been a boy of ten and six and the Mad King had called for his father’s head.

Yet, back then he still had his sword-arm…

"So, will you just hang me?“ he asked them. "Or will I get the courtesy of a trial by combat?“

"First you must be judged,“ Thoros added and stepped aside.

A terrible chill washed over him as he watched the cloaked person move towards him.

It was a woman, so much he could tell by her form and the way she moved.

She was silent like a ghost as if she was not breathing.

The thought terrified him so much he could no move. It was as if someone had put a spell upon him.

The men bowed to the woman as if she was a highborn lady.

"My lady will judge you, Kingslayer,“ Thoros added almost softly.

When the woman finally lowered her cloak Jaime froze.

For a brief moment, he thought that his heart might have stopped.

He blinked once and twice and a third time.

"Lady Stark?“ he asked, his voice thin and high-pitched. "How…“

The Lady was a grizzly sight. The Lady’s face was pale as snow and shredded, her hair gone and decay hung over her like a heavy cloud.

Her eyes were glaring, inhuman, and full of hate.

Jaime had never felt more fear and felt himself recoiling from her touch.

"She was already three days dead when we found her outside the Twins, but the god of light would not have returned her to this world if there was no purpose for her.“

„And that purpose is to kill me?“ Jaime asked. For her broken little boy that had perished at the Greyjoy’s hands. For Robb Stark’s death at the Twins? For depriving her brother of Riverrun? For helping the rotten Freys. He was guilty of all these crimes, but in this moment he realized that he didn’t want to die just yet. „How honorable and noble of her.“

It was then that the Lady spoke. It were nothing more than a handful of spitting and hissing words, of which Jaime understood nothing.

"She says you broke your vow to her and that you deserve death for your treachery…You promised to bring back her daughters in exchange for your freedom.“

It was true. All of it was true, but Jaime didn’t want to die. He had never meant to keep that oath and had handed it to Brienne.

An impossible task.

"You are right, my lady,“ he forced the words over his trembling lips. "I did not keep my oath, but by my knowledge, Arya Stark is long dead and your daughter Sansa disappeared long before I could have saved her. It was not my fault…,“ he began, but the Lady wanted to hear none of his excuses.

"My Lady,“ Brienne interrupted then. "Why not give Ser Jaime another chance to find at least Sansa? Perhaps…,“ she was about to continue, but the Lady’s terrifying voice silenced him.

"The Lady says that she considers you more trustworthy than the Kingslayer,“ Thoros said with a hint of surprise. "And because of this, she is willing to let the Kingslayer live for the time being…for an exchange.“

Brienne paled. "An exchange?“

"Aye,“ Thoros confirmed. "The Lady wants to exchange Sansa Stark’s life for the Kingslayer’s. If you manage to bring Sansa Stark here until the next full moon she will free the Kingslayer. If not then he will die and you will no longer be welcome here.“

Brienne swallowed hard and looked back at Jaime and then at Lady Stark.

"But I do not know where Lady Sansa is…I searched everywhere…,“ she began, but they wanted to hear none of her excuses.

The Lady Stark made another screeching voice.

"The Lady wants to hear none of your petty excuses. She knows what Ser Jaime did to her brother. Lem told us everything about it…How he threatened to sling Lady Roslin’s babe with a trebuchet upon the walls of Riverrun. There were some more threats exchanged…Alone for that she could hang you, Kingslayer. It would be a far too kind death.“

Jaime winced. He could not even deny the truth.

"What kind of death does she wish to impose upon me when Lady Brienne fails in her task?“ Jaime asked and looked directly at the hateful eyes of the woman that had once been Catelyn Stark. "I deserve at least that.“

The Lady spoke once more. He could hear the hate in her voice.

Perhaps he deserved it. Perhaps not. The fact that a corpse was walking and talking should be enough to declare him mad.

"You shall be hanged, but not until death. Then we will cut out your entrails and your pretty cock and feed it to the flames. When you are not dead by then, we will cut off your head and use it in whatever way the lady pleases. She thinks her son’s crown would look good upon you golden curls, Ser Jaime.“

Then, for the first time in Jaime’s life, he was speechless.

…


	4. Sansa

**Sansa**

Sansa felt as if a lifetime had gone by since Ser Sandrich had stolen her away. He had been foolish enough to seek his help when he had told her that he would bring her to Riverrun and to her grand-uncle the Blackfish, who had supposedly retaken Riverrun from the enemy.

 _It was probably another_ lie, Sansa knew now, but she had been desperate to escape after what had transpired between her and Harry. You were a foolish girl to believe him.

Harry had been alight with happiness when he had won the tourney of the Winged Knights, no doubt with Lord Baelish’s bribery, and Sansa herself had been tipsy from the wine Lord Baelish had poured her.

Not more than two cups had been necessary for her to become properly drunk, but now she believed there had been more to the wine.

Had Lord Baelish put something into it?

She certainly thought it possible, but then he was the only one who had helped her escape.

She didn’t know what to think, especially after Harry had forced himself upon her and had forcefully taken her maidenhead. Confused and tipsy she had stumbled through the castle, weeping.

She still recalled clearly what Harry had muttered while he had been inside her.

"Stop being so prudish,“ he had whispered. "Your father said you would welcome my attention.“

Afterward, she had met Ser Sandrich and her fate had been sealed.

By now they must have been traveling for maybe a handful of days, but even so, she couldn’t say how far they had gone.

The landscape was foreign to her and Ser Sandrich was smart enough to keep her gagged and bound to his horse.

He had also forced her to put on a cloak to hide her fine dress, though that didn’t matter anyway. By now, it had been ruined by the mud and the blood that had been left by her lost maidenhead.

Nothing mattered anymore, because now she would never be able to annul her marriage to Lord Tyrion. Now Harry would never marry her and she would never go home back to Winterfell. Not after she had betrayed Lord Baelish.

Ser Sandrich was no bad traveling companion either. He was a silent one, but she knew she couldn’t trust him.

_He will take me to King’s Landing._

Thus, she was waiting and watching until she would find a way of escape.

She had no doubt that Lord Baelish would come for her. He was obsessed with her and whatever he had intended by having Harry pluck her maidenhood in such an unpleasant manner she had no doubt it had had a deeper meaning.

Lord Baelish was always spinning plots, not caring who would get hurt, but then she also knew that he wanted to have her.

She knew it by the way he was looking at her.

_He wants my mother, but she is dead and gone. I am the only thing that is left of her._

„You know,“ Sandrich said for the first time since the morning. „You are pretty indeed. If the Spider hadn’t promised such a high price for you, I might have even enjoyed myself. I couldn’t have married you of course, but Harry the Ass seemed to have had a lot of fun with you.“

Sansa shuddered at the idea, but then she was already spoiled beyond repair.

Perhaps it could give her a chance to escape.

How had Cersei once told her? _A woman’s weapon was between her legs._

She had always loathed the queen, but now it might be her only way of escape.

"I can’t help but agree with you,“ Sansa replied. "I heard men of your stature are barely able to satisfy a common woman. How would you be able to satisfy a highborn lady like me?“

She must have heard his pride, because he immediately turned around, his gaze burning into hers.

"Are you speaking of experience?“ he asked mockingly. "I think not. I have seen your underskirt. It is full of maiden’s blood. It seems it was true what Lord Baelish was trying to sell to the old Lady Waynwood. The Imp never plucked you, did he?“

"Lord Tyrion was decent,“ she replied but couldn’t help but to feel sick when she recalled his swollen red manhood. "Better than Harry the Ass.“

"He is most likely dead,“ Sandrich snorted. "And Harry the Ass will most likely marry another pretty maid. Bad luck for you, who will soon lose your pretty head. The Spider will sell you to the queen and Cersei is blaming you for her son’s death. She thinks you poisoned him.“

Sansa couldn’t believe her ears. "I never hurt Joffrey.“

"Of course not!“ Sandrich agreed. „But the queen won’t care about that!“

"Why go back to King’s Landing at all?“ Sansa asked desperately. "Why not bring me to Riverrun? My grand-uncle would pay you.“

"Your grand-uncle is most likely dead,“ Sandrich mocked. "I lied to you. The Lannisters have lone retaken Riverrun.“

Sansa felt all hope leave her. Yet, there was still a spark of defiance residing inside her heart.

 _I will never go back_ , she thought. _I rather die._

She remained silent for the rest of the day as they trudged through the barren landscape. Once, she believed to hear the sound of horse hooves, but then it had turned out to be a flock of ravens that had been stirred up from their resting place by a handful of highwaymen.

Sandrich had quickly pulled her back into the underwood. The leaves and brambles were still sticking in her hair as they made camp that night.

Sandrich bound her to a tree and covered her mouth. She tried to slip free from her bindings, but the small knight was more capable than she had anticipated. By the end of the day, her arms were bleeding and Ser Sandrich was bringing half of a roasted squirrel and some dried meat and dark bread.

He didn’t allow her to eat herself. Instead, he fed her a piece of squirrel, one after another, as if she was a little babe instead of a girl grown.

"You are hungry, are you not?“ he asked mockingly. "There is nothing better than a squirrel.“

The old Sansa would have balked about such a dish, but she hadn’t eaten much in the last days and she had been walking all day.

She ate nearly half the squirrel, but the bread was dry and hard and make her cough. The water he had poured from his waterskin into her mouth was the best thing about their meal. It was at least cold and fresh.

"Now sleep,“ he told her. By the morrow, we will surely leave the Vale. "We will leave at sunrise.“

But Sansa couldn’t sleep. The ground was hard, she was freezing and she was afraid of boing back to King’s Landing.

She remained awake, while the knight was watching the flames, eventually slipping away to sleep.

Everyone had to sleep. Even knights like Sandrich.

All the while, Sansa had continued working on her bindings. She rubbed her hands up and down, trying to sleep free. Every movement was filled with agonizing pain and she drew blood by biting her lips to silence herself.

Finally, she managed to slip one of her hands free. Then, the second. She was gasping for breath when she pulled herself up.

Her legs were also bound, but her hands were free. Her bleeding hands which she was now using to unlace the bindings around her legs.

Ever slowly, trying not to wake the small knight, who was snoring softly.

When she was done, she pulled herself to her trembling feat and looked at his horse.

Taking the horse was the only way to escape. She would walk on foot, he would catch up with her in no time.

It made her wish she had listened better when Ser Roderik had tried to teach her horsemanship.

Arya had been an excellent rider and Sansa had mocked her for it, calling her a stableboy for spending all day outside and coming back in smelly and torn clothes.

Now she wished she was here.

The horse was still quiet as she approached and while she was unlacing the reins, but when she made an attempt to climb into the saddle, the animal reacted aggressively.

Faster than she could take a breathe, she kissed the ground, the sound of broken bones ringing in her ears.

She knew she had at least sprained her shoulder when she pulled herself back to her feet.

But it was already too late.

Sandrich hurled himself at her faster than a squirrel.

He hit her harder than expected and soon enough he was pinning her down into the wet grass.

He was smaller than her, but she had hurt herself and he had the advantage of being atop.

"What do you think you were doing?“ he asked and looked down at her with an angry glare. "I am kind to you and you treat me so unkindly. Perhaps I must teach you a lesson.“

"I didn’t mean,“ she whispered, but he silenced her by placing his hand upon his neck, squeezing the air out of his body.

"You know. I was rethinking your offer from before…,“ he trailed off and slipped his hand to the dagger fastened at his side.

He pulled it out and cut open the clasp of her cloak. Then followed her bodice and soon enough he was pulling down her bloody underskirt.

He was already breathing heavily when he slipped his hand between her legs and started fumbling there.

"Ah,“ he rasped. „You are already wet. That means it won’t even hurt. What does it matter anyway? Harry the Ass has already enjoyed himself…I don’t mind spoiled goods. It’s common for hedge knights like myself. Useless scum, they liked to call us, but aren’t we that have songs told about them?“

He grinned at her then and kissed her. He tasted of squirrel.

"You like songs don’t you?“ he asked and lowered his breeches. "And yet, you allowed Baelish to get this singer killed. Poor fellow.“

Sansa had long stopped listening, her gaze darting to the dagger he had carelessly discarded beside her.

That was the small knight’s vice. He was prideful.

Sansa tried not to fight or squirm. All she could think about was the knife.

The knife was close to her…so very close. She didn’t even care about Sandrich’s breath at her neck.

All that mattered was the dagger secure in her hands.

She had never killed a man. She wasn’t like Arya. Her wild little sister.

But then it was suddenly so very easy.

Slowly, she brought up the dagger, and with a quick movement, she buried it in his neck.

The expression of surprise on his face alarmed her because he wasn’t dead yet. She knew she needed to get it deeper.

Gritting her teeth she buried the sharp weapon deeper. The hot blood was rushing forth from his steaming neck, drenching her dress and cloak and the earth beneath.

He squirmed a bit longer before he made a last gurgling sound and collapsed on the ground.

He was dead.

She had killed him and now he was dead. Deader than dead. She couldn’t even look at him.

He smelled of shit.

She dropped the dagger and backed away at the realization and collapsed into the mud.

She wept then and was shaking. After a while, she pulled herself together and noticed that the horse was still there.

And his meager belongings.

She pulled herself up and searched the belongings. There was not much left. Some dried meat, water, and a handful of silver coins.

Shaking her head, she walked towards the horse. The animal didn’t want her to mount it.

It was useless.

Fearing to be thrown again and break her shoulder she decided to walk on foot.

The woods were dark and there were probably wolves afoot, but it was better to get away.

Perhaps someone was already searching for her.

That was her only hope.

She walked through the night, freezing and shaking and cradling her sprained arm.

By the coming of dawn, she felt better. The warmth helped and she found the trampled path they had left behind them.

She even saw a flock of crows again.

She watched them from afar and at times, she believed they were showing her the right way.

They were after all her only companions.

It was her only comfort.

By midday, she was so tired, she sat down beneath a tree and ate the rest of the dried meat. The water was gone just as quickly.

She pulled herself up again and moved forward, one step after another.

She sang all the songs he knew, but soon enough even her mind was too empty to think properly.

She didn’t know how it had happened, but the next time she came back to herself, she was lying upon the wet grass.

The sunlight was blinding her and the sound of horse hooves had startled her.

The crows were circling over her head.

"I think we have found her, Lord Hardyng,“ a stranger’s voice said.

Sansa forced herself to lift her head and found a handful of riders watching her.

Harry was beside the rider cast in bright sunlight.

The old Sansa might have thought of him as a brave knight coming to save her, but she knew better.

The Hound had been right.

There were no such honorable knights.

…


	5. Daenerys

**Daenerys**

Daenerys watched the sun rising over the grassy hills. The grass was bending to the will of the wind and the sun looked like a boiling hot egg. The morning air brushed through her silver hair, as she glided over the Dothraki sea, just as she had once been riding her silver.

It was a beautiful sight to see Drogon’s black wings spread wide, glittering in the sunlight like onyx. Beneath her she could hear the rolling of horse hooves, the bloodriders, and Dothraki screamers, a terror to behold, but nothing against Drogon’s hot flames.

The Khal himself had tried to kill Drogon first. He had tried to pierce him with a spear while Dany had crawled back on her child’s back and his bloodriders had made use of the moment to litter her them with numerous arrows. 

None of them had been of use against Drogon’s thick scales. His hot flames had burned the Khal to ashes and he had dismembered a good dozen more Dothraki screamers and bloodriders before the senseless butchery had finally stopped.

By then, Daenerys had been bleeding again, her body weak and listless as she had clung to Drogon’s back, but she had raised her voice and told them who she was.

A Khaleesi of the Dothraki, the mother of dragons, and the rider of this dragon.

The great stallion, they had called her then and bent their knees. The stallion that mounts the world.

Strangely, the title filled her only with sadness. It made her think of her dead son and her sun and stars, though the love she had felt for him felt not as strong as it had been in her memory. She had been just a child and her husband had treated her kinder than she could have hoped for, but the early days of their marriage were now more than ever-present on her mind. He had hurt her and he had been a slaver, the very men she had killed in Meereen…

No, Khal Drogo had not been a good man and the Dothraki needed a new purpose. A way out of this kind of life.

And perhaps that was why fate had brought her here. To do what Drogo had never done. To lead them to a better future.

Vaes Dothrak looked just as in her memory. A city filled with stolen treasures, a city of horses and slaves, a city of pain.

She had thought she would be happy to return her, but the contrary was the case. This place was never her home and neither was Meereen.

It lay across the Narrow Sea. She sometimes dreamed of it, a castle with red walls overlooking the sea. The castle Viserys had dreamed about, their home.

A deep longing filled her then and as the sun was creeping just over the distant mountains she had to cover her face against the bright light.

Drogo gave a roar as they reached the city, bustling with activity and great clouds of dust blurring her sight.

It smelled of horses and sweat.

Daenerys brushed her hand over her face and patted Drogon’s back, directing him where she needed him to be.

He obeyed half-heartedly, but landed on a distant plain, whirling up a large cloud of dust as he went.

Around her, she could hear the roar of the Dothraki mixing with the sound of flapping wings.

Her eyes burned from the dust, but only as the cloud had finally vanished she could see what was going on.

The camp was alive. She could slaves hiding in their tents, bloodriders mounting up their horses, preparing their arrows, and reaching for their blades. Some simply stood and watched in awe at the black-winged beast.

Daenerys calmed Drogon enough to climb from his back and find Khal Phono’s bloodriders kneeling to her.

They did not harm her and threatened anyone who would, leading her to one of the many palaces that houses the Dosh Khaleen, the great widows of previous Khals.

She should have been one of them, but she had defied them all. She would not stay here to turn old and wrinkled. No, she needed to return to Meereen, to Ser Barristan and her handmaids and to her treacherous husband. To put an end to this false peace she had forged with the masters, but she didn’t intend to come along.

The oldest of the Dosh Khaleen was a woman that could only be described as ancient. Small as a child and wrinkled from head to toe, she walked on an old wooden stick and was accompanied by her sisters. They admired Drogon from their balconies and gardens, his black wings gleaming red in the ever-rising sun.

Daenerys heard their whispering, but it was not until the oldest of the Dosh Khaleen spoke, that the others dared to raise their voices.

"Khal Drogo’s Khaleesi,“ the old crone said and touched Dany’s cheek and shook her head. "No…No…No.“

Then, she turned her head and raised her arms. "The great stallion! The great stallion! The great stallion!“

And as she had shouted these words, the others joined in and started pulling on Dany’s arms, legs, hair, and face. She felt as if she was suffocating, drowning in a sea of people and chants filling her ears.

It reminded her how she had the slaves had called her mother and embraced her. The memory made her sad now.

_You failed them all_ , she knew now. _A ruler can be merciful or strong, but not both._

She should have killed them all, not allowed them to fester in like a sickness in the new world she had been trying to build.

She had done the wrong thing by showing weakness, but she had been too afraid to become like her brother or father.

But perhaps that was necessary. Not to be her father, but a burning sword that extinguished the sickness that had been festering in Meereen.

These thoughts came to her that night, as she was dressed and bathed in fresh clothing. A properly painted vest and horse leggings and new sandals. Her hair had been braided freshly and a bell was ringing whenever she turned her head.

She had feasted among the Dosh Khaleen and then among the bloodriders. They had broken their fast on a roasted horse covered with honey and spiced peppers, but there had also been talks of war and promises made.

Two of the younger Khals had sounded enthusiastic enough, but others had been hesitant to pledge their loyalty to her. Perhaps it would have helped if her bloodriders were here with her, but she could scarcely fly back and get them. No, time was scarce and Dany had needed to find a way to convince them.

In the end, she had won herself, fifteen-thousand men, to her cause, a victory for a queen that had been driven away by the Harpy like a common criminal.

No, she could not let them win. They would pay and the day of revenge was close.

And then? She had asked herself that numerous times since she had left Illyrio’s mansion in Pentos. Will you finally go home…

_Home_ , was such a sweet word that helped to lull her into a restless sleep. She was exhausted and had bled again, but it was not as bad as before. The meat had helped to bring back her strength and the promises given to her had assured her enough to be hopeful for the future.

She didn’t feel the same way about Westeros. She had the galling fear that it would not be like in her dreams or Viserys‘ tales, but another disappointment.

Yet, it was her duty nevertheless. She was the last Targaryen and she needed to take back what had long belonged to her family.

She would never have children of her own, but she could do still good, and sitting on the Iron Throne could only help her aspirations in Meereen.

It was strange. That the Iron Throne would one day become means to an end to further her goals in Essos.

The world was truly mad. Fate was leading her to paths she could not foretell.

She fell asleep then and dreamed of home and the comely young man that kept her bed warm. It was neither Daario nor Jorah nor Drogo, but always someone else, a shadow-face she could never reach through the darkness that surrounded her.

His kiss felt just as strange. Forceful, but cold as ice, and when he entered her it was always followed by burning sensation, albeit not unpleasant.

When she woke again, she felt refreshed and watched the sunrise in the east, Drogon’s black wings spread wide and his roar reaching over the grassy sea.

_If I look back I am lost_ , she remembered then and cast away the sadness she felt. Drogo and Rhaego were gone. Her brother was gone. Her mad sire was gone as well and so were all the others who had wanted to kill or love her. They would not keep her back. _There is only the future._

…


	6. Sansa

**Sansa**

The sky was glistening in colors of velvet and blood when they reached the Quiet Isle. Sansa had been asleep through half the journey, exhausted from her days with Sandrich.

Sandrich, whom she had killed in cold blood. Every time, she felt the urge to vomit when she thought of what had nearly happened to her.

_He would have raped me…if I hadn’t killed him._

_As my future husband before him_ , she recognized and lifted her gaze. Her backside hurt from the long ride, but she felt safer riding alone than sharing a horse with Harry the Ass.

Sansa hated him, but she knew she could not escape him. He was her only way to return home to Winterfell.

And yet she didn’t know how to speak to him. It felt as if she had lost her courtesy.

"You are so silent these days,“ Harry snorted beside her. He looked as handsome and vain as ever, his blond hair brushed behind his ears and dressed in blue-and-white armor. "Do you have no kind word for your saviour?“

Sansa wanted to snort, but she kept her true thoughts to herself.

"I am very pleased to see you again, my love,“ she feigned her sweet words. "I thought you might have forgotten me after all that had happened between us.“

Harry scowled. "I thought you a bastard…a bastard that was being forced upon me. I wouldn’t have done that if I had known the truth.“

Sansa exhaled deeply and nodded her head. "That I am Sansa Stark.“

"And the heir to the North. Gods, even Royce didn’t see it. He was baffled when he found out the truth.“

"Well, now you know the truth,“ Sansa replied and straightened herself in her saddle. „I wonder what we will do.“

Harry chuckled. "We are going to be wed, what else? Your false father was smart enough to have a Septa confirm your intact maidenhood before our betrothal and I can attest as well that the dwarf never touched you before you lay with me. All we need to do is to give our vows. That’s why I brought you here. The men of the Quiet Isle are not only gifted healers, they are also holy men who can bless our unions.

Sansa was surprised how much foresight this suddenly over-eager husband of hers possessed.

_He may be an ass, but he is at least no complete fool._

"Do you think Lord Baelish might prevent you from marrying me after he convinced you to seduce me?“

Harry did not seem pleased with her sharp comment, but it gave her some sort of satisfaction.

"If you are asking whether I trust Lord Baelish,“ Harry snorted. "Then, you are quite right, my Lady Sansa. I want to make sure that I have all the cards in my hands.“

Sansa couldn’t help but laugh. "And you think you can outplay Littlefinger? He is going to eat you for breakfast. He has half the Vale in his pocket.“

"Royce is well aware of that,“ Harry replied. "But he is also hated.“

"Many men have hated Littlefinger and he survived them all.“

"Do you admire him, my lady?“ Harry asked. "Because you almost sound like it.“

Sansa shook her head in revulsion. "He manipulated me as much as you. He is no good man, but he saved me.“

"So you owe him a debt?“

Sansa shook her head. "Not after what he did to me. I cannot forgive that.“

Harry almost smiled. "Then, we have a deal.“

Sansa said nothing. The silence was enough of an answer for that young and vain knight.

Upon their arrival at broken stones that ringed the shoreline of the Quiet Isle, they were greeted by thee men clad in brown robes with wide sleeves and pointed cowls. They had also wound lengths of wool about the lower halves of their faces.

"Welcome, strangers,“ one of the men greeted them. "What can we do for you?“

"We seek shelter for the night,“ Harry explained their purpose here. "And I have need of a Septon. I wish to be wed.“

The men nodded their heads in unison, but only one spoke.

"The gods welcome anyone in need of help. You may stay and the Elder Brother will surely be pleased to meet with you, strangers.“

"Do you not care for our names?“ Sansa asked in confusion.

"We are all wanderers,“ the man replied. "Names are words and words are a wind to people like us, dear sister.“

Sansa gave an understanding nod. "The Seven bless you for your kindness, dear brother.“

Soon enough, the men were leading them down a deep slope, though their descend was somewhat eased by the wooden steps that wandered back and forth across the hillside and amongst the many buildings that could be found there.

As they passed, they saw a good hundred more of these brothers, all garbed in the same brown robes, all of them watching in silence.

They were all at work. There were a handful of brothers guarding a herd of sheep. There were men working the fields. There were men grazing two or three horses on the meadow below one of the houses. And high upon a lichyard, there was a tall man digging a fresh grave.

The brow of the hill was crowned by a low wall of stone, encircling a cluster of large buildings. There was a windmill, the cloisters, and a sept for prayers.

Sansa admired the painted windows because they reminded her of her mother’s Sept in Winterfell.

At last, they reached some sort of a cave with a wooden door.

It was a peculiar sight, but Sansa was too exhausted to care.

"What kind of place is this?“ Harry asked in displeasure. "Is that the place where your superior resides? In a hole in the ground?“

"It's called the Hermit’s Hole,“ the brother explained. "The first holy man to find his way here lived here and worked so many wonders that many others came to join him. That was supposedly two thousand years ago. Well, the door came later, as a matter of convenience. The nights can be rather cold here on the Quiet Isle.“

Sansa didn’t care. She was just glad that she could finally sit down and rest. When two of the brothers took her aside to take care of her wounds and brought her some water she felt almost like a princess.“

It felt as if years had passed, but when she was led back into the common hall, she realized that it had merely been a handful of days.

Harry and his men had been provided with a table and were feasting upon a simple porridge, bread, and some cheese. There was no ale, much to Harry’s displeasure, but this was after all an island of holy men and no brothel, as the Elder Brother had informed them.

The Elder Brother was not as old as one might think. He stood straight and tall like a lance. He was a man in his middle years, full of life and vigor. He also seemed not the kind of man to indulge vain lordlings like Harry.

That earned him Sansa’s sympathy, though she had only spoken a handful of words to him so far.

"You should eat, my lady,“ he told her with a warm smile and offered her a wooden bowl with warm porridge. "You look exhausted. You shall also have some of our famous cider. And some bread and butter.“

Sansa was more than thankful for the food, though she took little pleasure in the company of her future husband.

She shuddered from sharing her bed with him, but it was necessary. _It is my only way home._

"You should at least change your dress,“ Harry told her after she had barely finished her meal. "A bride should not be wed in her dirty underskirt. The Elder Brother assured me that you shall have a proper bath and dress.“

Sansa was more than surprised by that. "The brothers here have dresses?“

"We do,“ the brother replied. "But they are rather simple. Most of them are gifts. I am sure we will find something fitting for you.“

Sansa didn’t refuse the kind offer and left soon after in the company of the brother to take a bath in the small bathing house.

She was of course afforded privacy, but that didn’t mean she felt safe. She doubted she would ever feel safe again.

The cool water helped to wash off the blood and the grime. When she emerged from her bath dressed in fresh clothing she felt almost like a new person.

Or perhaps it was also the food that had helped her to regain her spirits.

Strenght she would need to get through with this.

The wedding ceremony was a simple one. There were the seven vows exchanged and the seven blessings given, but there was no splendor like Sansa had always dreamed of.

She didn’t care.

She was only glad it was over. She was no longer a maid and she needed Harry as her protection, no matter how much she hated it.

They were even afforded a single room and a bed.

"They really found the ugliest of dress for you, didn’t they?“ Harry asked and touched her shoulder. The dress was plain indeed. It was brown and black and emblazoned with small acorns. "Its also much too tight. Don’t you want to get it off?“

Sansa nodded her head and started to pull on the bindings of her dress. Yet, she was unable to pull it off on her own.

"You ought to help me.“

Harry nodded his head and helped her pull off the chemise. Beneath she wore a plain kirtle she pulled off herself, leaving her naked as her name day.

She shuddered, as Harry’s greedy eyes appraised her from head to toe.

She could see that he was eager to have her now in the most common way.

 _Their cocks make men weak_ , Cersei had told her before. _It shall serve you when you are wed to my precious Joffrey._

Sansa hated Cersei, but perhaps there was some truth to these worlds. Perhaps that would make it easier.

Thus, she exhaled deeply and went to work. "You should take off your breeches, my lord.“

Harry gave her a suspicious look. Then, he nodded his head and did as she had asked of him.

Their coupling was quick that night and it didn’t hurt as much as the last time. Harry seemed to care more about Sansa Stark’s well-being than Lord Baelish’s bastard daughter. It was no surprise. He did not want Sansa, he only wanted Winterfell.

And the Eyrie.

Such thoughts fluttered through Sansa’s head as she was lying in bed that night. Harry was snoring beside, turned against the wall.

Even in sleep, he was trying to put a distance between them.

Sansa knew then that she wouldn’t be able to sleep anytime soon. She couldn’t bear it anymore and climbed out of bed.

She felt the night chill on her skin as she stepped out of her sleeping compartment and found a full moon laughing down at her.

There were stars too and silence.

Finally, some silence.

As quietly as possible, she made her way back to the Sept she had seen during the day. She wanted to prey or just escape from everything.

When she entered, she found no one there. She was glad for it and sat down on one of the wooden benches.

Candles were burning beneath the altar of the mother and father.

Safe and secure, she closed her eyes and prayed a little, yet her peace was soon disturbed by footsteps on the ground.

Sansa quickly scrambled from her seat and wanted to run off, but the shadow-cast giant grabbed her arm and pulled her backwards.

Sansa tried to pull free, a loud scream leaving her mouth.

"Let me go!“

"Calm your tits!“ the man shouted and covered her mouth. It was a raspy voice, a very familiar voice. "I shan’t harm you, little bird.“

Her heart nearly stopped, but when the man pulled down the hood she knew it was true.

The Hound’s ugly face was looking down at her. In the past, she would have shuddered with fear, but in that moment she felt only surprised.

"Ser Clegane?“

He snorted with laughter. "Is it so unbelievable that you find me here, little bird?“

Was that even a question? The Quiet Isle was the last place someone would search for Ser Sandor Clegane.

"You are…you are here and…“ she stuttered.

"Alive and crippled and ugly as ever,“ he said and let go of her arm. "But you have no reason to fear me.“

"I do not mind,“ Sansa replied. "But how come you joined the holy brothers?“

"I got hurt… it's a long story,“ he avoided the topic. "And you…you are here with this highborn gnat. They say he is your husband.“

Sansa nodded her head in confirmation.“He is the heir to the Vale and the only one who can help me go home. He will give me Winterfell.“

The Hound laughed. "At least, he is no bloody Lannister. Good for you, girl. You have finally found your knight in shining armor.“

"He is no knight in shining armor, he is an ass. Still, I need him to take down Lord Baelish. As you might have heard…he is now the Lord Paramount of the Vale.“

"Not for long,“ Sansa added. "Lord Baelish…he killed my aunt.“

"And your father,“ the Hound snorted. "Not with his own hands of course, but he certainly helped along.“

Sansa was shocked.

"I do not understand…,“ she trailed off.

The Hound touched her shoulder in an almost gentle gesture. It was strange, but she felt less afraid of him than her own husband, though she still recalled how terrifying he had been when he had held that blade to her neck and had made her sing for him.

"You heard right, little bird,“ he added and touched her hair. The dark color had left her reddish hair, but there were still signs visible. "Lord Baelish was the one who turned the Gold Cloaks against your father. I know it well because I was there myself when he held the knife against your father’s throat.“

Sansa was still in shock, but it all made sense now. So much sense.

"Lord Baelish made me pretend I am his daughter,“ she said and touched his arm. He finally let go of her hair and looked at her. "He wanted me…I knew it all along because he wanted my mother before that. Of course, that is why he betrayed my father. All for rejected love. Such madness.“

She stopped herself then and backed away. This was highly inappropriate, her heart racing wildly at the thought of Harry finding her here.

"And you...I thought you were …,“ she stuttered. "They say you were butchering people in Saltpans…“

"I did no such thing,“ he snorted. "Though I did get into a fight. I nearly died after your little runt of a sister left me to die. Without the monks here who saved me. Ever since I am digging graves.“

Sansa could not believe her ears. Within the blink of a moment, she crossed the distance, pulling on his arm.

"You found Arya? Where is she?“

He pulled his hand away. "I have no idea.“

Sansa’s hopes were squashed. "Of course.“

"Of course what?“ he asked in a bitter tone. "I did nothing to her. I even saved her life at the Red Wedding. I wanted to bring her to the Eyrie or somewhere else…I had nothing.“

"You deserted.“

"I didn’t want anything to do with the Imp’s green fire.“

Sansa almost smiled. "Wildfire."

"I know what the bloody hell it is called…,“ he snorted and Sansa laughed again. It was a laugh born from despair and amusement.

"You can come with us…,“ she said then and touched his arm again. "No, you must come with us. Harry will agree if you help take down Lord Baelish.“

The Hound shook his head.

"I cannot go with you, little bird. I have a task given to me by the bloody Seven. A task I desired to for so long…sweet revenge.“

Sansa was confused by his words. The feeling of disappointment was as sharp as the touch of a blade in her heart.

"I cannot force you, but I thank you for telling me the truth about my father.“

The Hound laughed then. The laughter could almost be described as gentle.

"You have changed.“

Sansa nodded her head. "Perhaps. I must go now. Back to my husband, Harry the Ass.“

The Hound’s rumbling laughter followed her all the way out of the Sept.

"A fitting name! A fitting name in indeed for the future Lord of the Vale!“

It filled her with fresh vigor. It was time to go back to the Eyrie. It was time to pay Lord Baelish a lesson. It was time to revenge for her father and mother. She owed him that.

…


	7. Arya

**Arya**

She dreamed in her dark cell of home.

Of a grey castle covered with snow. Of a wolf that was always dirty. Of a brother with a long face.

Of home. Of Arya Stark.

 _No_ , she reminded herself _. You are no one._

She reminded herself of this over and over again as she went about her daily business. Washing bodies and helping the waif, but not more than that these days.

She had killed the man. Mercy had killed the man and the Kindly man had not been pleased with her.

Yet, he had not sent her away and had made her work instead. Day and night, she worked. All-day, scrubbing the floor or scrubbing dead bodies.

And at night, he called her to him.

"You are still no one,“ he said and picked her cheek. "I can see it.“

Yet, again he asked her.

"Who are you?“

"No one,“ she replied. "I am no one.“

"You are lying,“ the Kindly Man replied and smiled. "Now go back to bed. Tomorrow I will have a new task for you.“

Arya did as she was bid and went to bed. Again, she dreamed of the wolves, her brothers that were prowling beneath the waning mon, breathing in the fresh scent of blood and snow.

She still had the taste of iron on her lips when she woke from her slumber.

She washed and dressed and had finished her duties when the Kindly Man called upon her to join him.

"Who are you?“ he asked her like every morning and handed her a bowl with porridge.

"No one,“ she replied. "No one.“

"You are lying,“ he said and touched her cheek again. „You still have your dreams. Someone who is no one has no dreams. No ghosts haunt his or her mind. You must go and learn once more or leave forever. Only someone who is No one can remain here forever.“

Fear filled her heart when she heard this.

She dropped the bowl and pulled on his robe, kneeling on the cold ground.

Stupid tears burned in her eyes. „What must I do? Tell me, and I shall try harder than before!“

The Kindly Man patted her head. „You must stop trying. That’s how you become No one.“

„Now go with the waif and have a new face. She will tell you what you must do, child.“

She let go of his robes and followed after the wife, deep into the bowls of the House of Black and White.

She always felt as if a shiver was running down her spine when she entered this hall.

The hall of faces.

She wished she could stop and look at each of them but she knew the waif didn’t like it.

"Come,“ the waif said and pulled her along towards one of the stone pillars. There he picked the mask from and pulled Arya along to an antechamber where she placed the new face upon her skin.

"Who am I?“ she asked the waif that was holding a silver plate in front of her face. "Do I have a name?“

The waif nodded her head and held the silver plate closer.

She found a pretty face looking back at her. A face with full lips, dark eyes, and heavy brows. A girl far older than her.

"The girl gave no name. You must choose your own name.“

She had had so many names but now her lips failed her.

"Cat,“ she said at first but then changed her mind. A stranger’s name entered her mind then. The name of a woman she had seen before.

"Lyanna,“ she replied. "My name is Lyanna.“

"A good name.“

The waif didn’t wait long to find her new robes. These were made of the finest silk and smooth like water. She also found her a beautiful wig with thick curls of black hair.

Arya’s hair had never been like this…

 _No one_ , she reminded herself and bit her lips hard. _You are no one._

"Where must I go?“ She asked the wife at the entrance to the House of Black and White.

"To live with the courtesans. The man they serve must be given the gift.“

"And who is he?“

"He is the old Sealord,“ the waif replied and leaned closer to kiss his cheek. "There is someone who wishes for his death. A name was given. The God of Death must have his due.“

She nodded her head and went to attend to her task.

Braavos was a maze of canals and buildings, a thick mist hanging over her like a blanket of snow.

It wasn’t cold. It was pleasantly warm and the sun was shining.

Yet, the ground was wet and puddles could be seen. It must have rained in the morn.

It was not hard to find a gondola and she used one of her silver coins to earn herself passage to the Sealord’s palace.

And as the gondola was moving up and down she pondered her next plan. She knew that the old Sealord was fond of the company of young girls but there were also servants needed in his halls. To scrub the floors and to serve wine.

Everyone had his task.

Yet, when she saw how the young gondola man was watching her, she knew that she would have no hard time finding entrance into the palace.

She was pretty.

She would find a way.

Pretty girls always did.

The woman who interviewed her was the Sea wife, a dark-haired beauty garbed in long crimson robes threaded with gold.

She asked about her accomplishments and had her dance and sing and recount tales from Westeros.

She also had her serve wine and by the end of it, the lady allowed her to start as a lowly cupbearer.

She should have known better. Her voice was of no use and dancing was not something her feet had ever mastered.

The tales she had liked, though.

She had to thank Old Nan for that.

The Sealord resided in a beautiful palace made of marble walls and gilded roofs. It was like its own paradise but there was no rest for a lowly servant like her.

She had to rise at dawn, dress, and powder her face. She had her fast around midday and in the evening she was either serving wine to the other courtesans or attending to the Sealord’s many guests.

At least, ten every day, by her counting. They came from all over Essos. There were merchants from Lys, travelers from YI TI, and many a sellsword in between.

All of them usually came for one thing only. Coin.

They were like beggars, dressed in rich clothing. They were breaking their fast on fresh fruits dipped in honey and received the finest of wine but they themselves usually had nothing.

They only came here to get.

Yet, the Sealord rarely gave.

He was a very old man with a wrinkled face and trembling hands. He had no teeth either.

The only impressive about him was his big belly, his beautiful white mustache, and his silver-buckled boots.

They were so high, it was hard to believe that he could actually walk in them.

Of course, she had watched the Sealord. Just like the waif had instructed her.

He liked his wine sweetened and only his favorite wife was allowed to serve him.

That was what surprised her even more. He had six wives and thirty children. His youngest was ten and twelve.

Yet, he never bedded them. No, he only kept them to look pretty.

And pretty they were. There were girls of all skin tones, hair colors, and different kinds of shapes residing in his palace. Some had been slaves even, but most came from Braavos.

The Sealord was also a very cautious man. He never drank anything unless his cupbearer had taken a sip from the cup herself.

He also never ate anything without his food tasters and rarely allowed anyone close to him.

And most importantly, he never allowed his First Sword to leave his side.

Truly, the Kindly man gave her a harder task than she had expected.

 _You asked for it_ , she reminded herself and sneezed when the powder entered her nose.

"You are such a child, Lyanna,“ one of the other girls said and placed some more powder upon her face before adding some red substance upon her lips. "You will make everything look worse. And now hurry, the Sealord has important guests. Lord from the Sunset Kingdoms begging him for coin.“

She thanked the girl and went back to her work. As always, she got her flagon of cooled wine and a cup of honey.

The Sealord was already seated in his large armchair and his guests were seated a little lower.

The chairs were made from elaborate wood and stuffed with thick cushions.

There were lower-set tables in front of them on which Lyanna placed the cups and the cooled flagon of wine.

Their whispering was distant to her ears as she went about her task but while she was serving the wine to these Westerosi one of them was disturbing her peace.

The man was tall and spoke in Westerosi. His white-gold hair was curled and his easy smile betrayed a man that didn’t take life very seriously.

"What beautiful ladies you have here,“ he complimented and smiled at her. "No wonder everyone envies you for your position.“

Arya was confused by his actions but Lyanna minded her manners.

She gave a shy smile and showed her white teeth.

"You honor me, Ser.“

The young man’s brows rose to the top of his head.

"You are from Westeros?“

"My mother was from there,“ she lied and showed him the flagon of wine once more. "Do you care for some more wine?“

"Forgive me, Ser Massey,“ the Sealord said and laughed. "But we should return to the business at hand. You said that your king needs my help to acquire sellsword and that you have the Iron Bank’s promise?“

"Jon Snow arranged it for us,“ the man replied.

Arya had nearly dropped the cup but had caught it in time. Her heart had also nearly given out.

_Jon. Jon was alive. Jon had sent them here…_

_No_ , she reminded herself. _You are no one….No one. You have no brothers._

"Who is this Jon Snow again?“

"The Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch,“ Ser Massey replied. "Though in fact there is no Night’s Watch anymore. There was mutiny and Jon Snow…Well, they tried to murder him and in the aftermath, the Wildlings butchered half the garrison of Castle Black. It were our queen’s men that brought back peace and had the perpetrators punished. In the aftermath, Jon Snow dissolved the Night’s Watch and left the Wall to the Wildlings and Northmen. The last time, I saw him he was about to travel to meet with our King.“

"Stannis Baratheon,“ the Sealord replied knowingly. "I remember him. He was King Robert’s younger brother, wasn’t he?“

"Indeed.“

The Sealord coughed again.

"And he has a promise of the Iron Bank?“

"As much as Tycho’s word counts,“ Ser Massey replied. "Or is he an untrustworthy man?“

"He is a trustworthy man, but that doesn’t mean it will benefit us to support your king. Isn’t he a heathen king? I heard he keeps a witch from Asshai in his company. Will the people accept him?“

"He is the rightful king,“ Ser Massey insisted. "And the current one is a bastard, born of incest. A mere child as well.“

"So were many Targaryens,“ the Sealord replied. "But you are not wrong. Him being a child is indeed a problem. It seems his mother stirred up the Faith against her. A foolish woman. However, that doesn’t mean your king is less of a fool, no?“

„King Stannis is a man of duty.“

"And a man who has not enough support from his own lords to buy himself sellswords.“

Ser Massey was about to open his mouth again but the Sealord silenced him with a wave of his hand.

"I have not made a decision,“ he replied. "And it must be considered throughout. In the meantime, you are welcome to return at any time.“

Ser Massey was not smiling as brightly when he left.

Arya went to bring the cups back to be cleaned and had a small supper, which allowed her to find some time to sort her thoughts.

Jon was alive and he was in Winterfell.

A deep longing filled her.

A longing to go to Ser Massey and leave this place forever.

It was one of the girls that called her back to the present.

"Lyanna,“ she said and patted her arm. „It is time to serve fresh wine. The Sealord’s next guest is waiting."

Arya got a fresh cup and fresh wine and returned to her duties at once, yet her thoughts were far away, back in Westeros.

With Jon.

"You are very welcome, Princess Daenerys,“ the Sealord was greeting his new guest upon her entrance. "It has been a long time that a Targaryen was a guest in my home.“

Arya gasped at the mention of the name and her gaze had immediately darted to the young woman seated in the chair.

She was slightly older than Sansa and she did indeed look like a Targaryen.

Her sun-tanned face was framed by silver hair kept in tight braids. Her garb was red-and-black and atop her head was a beautiful crown. At her side, were two familiar faces.

The elderly knight garbed in a polished plate and with the sky blue eyes was no other than Ser Barristan Selmy.

And the short and ugly creature that was seated in another chair and supping from a cup of wine was no other than Tyrion Lannister.

These three, made such a grotesque picture it was hard for her to find a clear thought as she went about her work.

Serving wine.

All the while she was listening to their exchange.

"I am pleased to be here, my lord,“ the young woman replied in perfect Bastard Valyrian. "Braavos is a beautiful city and has been my home for some years. I do not remember it, but there are only fond memories.“

"Yet, I assume that is not the reason you came?“

"No,“ Prince Daenerys replied. "My reason is of utmost importance. As you know, I have freed Slaver’s Bay and have defeated the allegiance that has formed against me. Yet, my people need more than that. Most of all, they need Braavos‘ protection and friendship.“

"And coin,“ the Sealord. "And ships. Nothing comes for free.“

"No,“ Princess Daenerys replied. "Nothing comes for free, but as I understand all Braavosi are merchants. Surely, a loan would be appropriate for the future queen of the seven kingdoms?“

"Queen,“ the Sealord replied sweetly. "I heard there are two other contenders. One has sent his men to beg for coin and the other is employing the Golden Company.“

The Princess’ smile faded.

"This young man is my nephew,“ she replied tensely. She was lying. "And he is doing it on my command. Soon, I will join him.“

"Will you?“ the Sealord asked and smiled. "Now that is a fine idea, indeed. It seems our meeting will be much more productive than my last.“

"Girl,“ the dwarf called for Arya. "Bring me some more whine.“

Arya wished she had poison but instead she could just pour some more wine into his cup.

The dwarf eyed her curiously.

"You are a pretty girl,“ he said in Bastard Valyrian. "What is your name?“

"No one,“ Arya replied and fled from the hall, her heart racing as she stumbled and fell. "No one.“

It was a lie.

One of the thousand lies.

She was someone.

She was Arya Stark of Winterfell.

Tears were running down her cheeks when she returned to her chamber and searched through her belongings.

She found the sword and the poison the waif had given her.

She eyed it for a long time in silence.

Then, she threw the poison away and kept the sword.

She did not stay any longer than that in this false palace and left. She had a silver coin left and paid one of the gondola boys for their efforts.

The sun was descending in the east when she saw the dragon flying circles over the harbor.

It was a mighty beast, black wings spread wide.

Arya watched the beast until night had fallen before going for a swim in one of the waters.

She washed the powder and the cosmetics from her face and put on her old clothing. Rough-spun pants, a long-sleeved tunic and her old worn-out boots. The face she pulled off, no matter how painful it was and threw it into the waters.

She felt free after she had done it. She felt like herself again and had to make a decision.

There was this Ser Massey, a man she didn’t trust. What use would he have for a girl like her?

He would marry her off to some lord and ask a favor from Jon for his effort.

No, she couldn’t go to him.

The Dragon Queen had the dwarf in her employ.

Arya hated him but the Lannisters had been her enemy once.

Perhaps she would forgive Arya’s family too.

Perhaps she would take her home.

It was a tempting idea.

Even more tempting was this dragon.

Smiling, she fell asleep that night and dreamed of running once more with her brothers.

In the morning, she rose early and went to find the queen.

Not much to her surprise, the dwarf was the first one to recognize her.

"You were in Braavos all this time? Did Lord Stark send you here?“

"No,“ Arya replied and bowed to the queen. She had no idea it was as proper as Sansa would have done it but the young girl smiled at her, leaning forward in her chair.

"You are very young to be all alone, are you not, Arya Stark?“

Arya shuddered at her comment.

"I have been alone since my father perished. I had some companions but I had no one but myself. That is why I want to go home.“

"A home is a precious place,“ the Princess replied and smiled sadly. "Where is your home?“

Arya smiled. The answer was easy.

"Winterfell.“

...


	8. Jon

**Jon**

Jon needed Satin’s help to dress in the clothes Queen Selyse had provided for him.

He couldn’t bring himself to dress in black. Every time, he thought about what had happened, he felt bile rising up inside his throat. Anger was also there, searing anger that made him wish to hurt himself or even better the traitors, but they had perished in Lady Melisandre’s flames.

A blessing for the god, she had called it, or at least that was what Val had told him. A blessing and punishment.

"What about the cloak, my lord?“ Satin asked and showed him the black cloak that had once been his.

Queen Selyse had also sent him a cloak. It was plain grey or might have once been white. It could not tell.

It made him wonder whether she was trying to mock him with these Stark colors.

Or perhaps that was all just in Jon’s imagination.

"Put the black cloak away,“ Jon snapped at the boy. "I have no need for it anymore. My watch has ended.“

The last words burned like poison on his tongue. There was guilt too, and so much regret.

_I should have never come here. I should have left when I had the chance._

_Nothing that I do is right._

The bitterness was soon exchanged for another feeling. Anger. And more guilt, when he noticed Satin’s frown.

"I did not mean to insult you,“ Jon told Satin and softened his voice. "But I will not change my mind. I am done sitting on this damn wall and do nothing. I am done with waiting.“

"But what about the Night’s Watch?“ Satin asked as he handed Jon the plain grey cloak.

Jon fastened the garment around his shoulders. It felt wrong, but Jon knew what he wanted to do.

"The Night’s Watch is over,“ Jon replied bitterly. "We are not more than a few hundred men. We cannot win this war on our own, especially not if the Bastard of Bolton is sitting in our rear. We need the support of Winterfell and the lords of the North.“

Satin was not allowed to give his reply, as Jon had rushed out of the chamber before the boy could open his mouth once more.

Outside, Ghost waited for him. Jon patted his head and climbed down the steps, Satin following after him like a loyal shadow.

He had not left his chamber since he had woken nearly a day ago and walking felt still strange.

He had to balance himself against the wall and once he had reached the steps, Satin had to help him once more to reach the shieldhall.

The Queen Selyse had made her court there, but Jon had asked the wildlings to join in.

Tormund had made sure of it.

The tension was palpable, but that was to be expected.

The Queen Selyse had lost her husband and all she had left were her handful of knights and these Wildlings.

Ser Malegorn, Ser Benethon, Ser Narbert, Ser Patrek, Ser Dorden, Ser Brus. With so many bloodthirsty wildlings infesting Castle Black, Selyse kept her sworn shields about her.

Two days ago, she had refused to help the free folk in Hardhome and now she would have to beg for their help.

It must be humiliating for this proud woman.

"You left his waiting, Lord Snow,“ Queen Selyse said and waved her hand at him. Her daughter sat beside her, dressed in black and her marred cheek ugly as ever. He still recalled Val’s warnings about the greyscale but brushed them away as quickly as possible. "But better late than never. Someone has arrived while you were lingering between death and life.“

"I thank you for your help in bringing the traitors to justice, your grace,“ he replied unhappily and turned his to look at the crowd that had assembled in the Shieldhall. 

Among the knights seated at the long table, he spotted two familiar faces. The plump woman with the green cloak and the black bear embellished on the front was no other than Alysanne Mormont. Right beside her was another familiar face, namely no other than Ser Justin Massey. The knight looked like he had walked right through a frozen hell, still shivering from head to toe.

"You rode out with the king,“ Jon remembered. "How come you are here, Ser Justin?“

"My king sent me here to deliver your Lady Sister to you,“ he explained and trembled. "And as you can see I did not come along. I brought Lady Alysanne Mormont, who swore loyalty to King Stannis, and the Braavosi…,“ he began, but Jon had long cut him off.

"My sister,“ he said, his heart racing wildling wildly. "Where is she?“

"It was another mistake,“ Ser Justin Massey added quickly. "The girl is not truly your sister. That’s what the Bastard of Bolton wanted us to believe. The girl confessed it all when we arrived here. She is just the steward’s daughter.“

"Jeyne Poole looks nothing like my sister,“ Jon replied in confusion and flexed his hand. Lady Melisandre’s fires had healed his wounds, but the burns on his hands were still there. "How could the Bastard of Bolton have fooled everyone?“

"Most of us have never paid much attention to Lord Eddard’s younger girl,“ Lady Alysanne added quietly and regarded Jon with a guilt-ridden expression. "But that makes no difference now. The girl is here and can tell you all about the bastard’s plots.“

"I already know that King Stannis is dead,“ Jon replied and looked over to Queen Selyse. "I am sure you are familiar with the letter I received, your grace?“

"I am familiar with this letter of yours,“ Queen Selyse confirmed sourly. "But that means nothing. Lady Melisandre thinks my husband is still alive and Ser Massey will soon depart for Braavos to buy my husband the service of a sellsword company. Be rest assured, we shan’t depend on your Wildings forever, Lord Snow.“

Jon ignored the disgust in her voice and shifted his attention to Ser Justin. "I want to see Lady Jeyne Poole.“

"The girl is a mess,“ Lady Alysanne told him. "And I think your Queen has more need of you, Lord Snow.“

 _She is not my queen_ , Jon wanted to reply, but that would do no good.

Stannis’ sour-faced queen had to do.

"I am not the leader of the Free Folk,“ Jon replied and shifted his attention to the men Tormund had gathered. "I cannot command them.“

Most he remembered, but some were missing. They must have perished among the chaos that had ensued after Jon had been stabbed.

"The Free Folk owe’s us a debt,“ Lord Axell Florent added. "We saved their leader, you, Lord Snow.“

"I am no one’s leader,“ Jon said again. "I am not even Lord Commander anymore. I have decided to dissolve the Night’s Watch and give the Wall to Wildlings…as a gift.“

Jon was not surprised by the gasps of shock and the silence that followed afterward.

"You cannot mean…,“ Lady Alysanne began, but Jon cut her off.

"I can and I will,“ Jon replied and shifted his attention to the few black brothers that were left at Castle Black. There were still men at Eastwatch and at the Shadow Tower, but Jon planned to inform them soon enough. "Because I will force men to serve when I myself intend to leave my post and mettle in the matters of the realm.“

Jon looked over to his brothers in that moment. He wondered how many oft hem had wanted to kill them.

"Call me an oathbreaker for all I care,“ Jon said sharply. „But I have realized that the Night’s Watch cannot survive on its own. We need the south and that is why I will join the Queen’s men to fight the Bastard of Bolton and ask you to join me if you are willing to fight beside me. More than that I do not ask.“

Then, he shifted his attention back to the Wildlings. He raised his voice so all of them could hear him properly.

"As I said, I am not the leader of the Free Folk, but as you might know by now…Mance didn’t perish in the flames. That was Rattleshirt. Instead, she went to Winterfell to free my sister and was most likely captured and killed by the Bolton of Bastard. If you so wish to avenge him, then follow me…and fight with me. I ask no more than that.“

"I ask not more than that…that ..that!“ Patchface added a rhyme and jumped from one foot to the other as if doing a merry dance. "We will march into the sea and out again! Under the waves we will ride seadragons and mermaids will sing our songs…Oh, oh, oh!“

No one laughed, apart from Princess Shireen, who chided her fool to be silent.

"You do not need to ask, Lord Crow,“ Gerrick of House Redbeard added. He was a tall man, long of leg and broad of shoulder. The queen had dressed him in the King Stannis‘ old garb. Scrubbed and groomed, all clad in green velvets and an ermine half-cape, with his fiery red beard, all combed and washed, he looked almost like a southron lord. Only the blood from the battle that had been fought blemished his fine clothing. He was no true king. Not as long Mance lived. "You have my sword.“

"And mine,“ Val added in a calm, but firm tone. "Though it’s no sword, a spear.“

The Queen scowled. She had wanted to wed Val to Ser Patrek, but given his absence, he must have perished when Wun Wun had squashed him like a bug for trying to steal her.

"I rather go to Hardhome,“ Tormund added. "But I am sure some of my men would be willing to join you.“

"The Thenn’s as well,“ The Magnar of Thenn added. His bride, Lady Alys was seated beside him, garbed in Wildling pelt and a dagger fastened at her hip. "You will have all of us if you like, Lord Snow. Mance shall be avenged!“

Many more joined in, their loud voices booming loudly in Jon’s head.

It gave him no joy like the last time. His heart was cold and empty. He only cared about seeing the Bastard of Bolton die.

For his deception and his treachery. Perhaps that would help to ease the anger that was burning inside his heart.

There were many more promises given that morning and many more oaths sworn.

Tormund was given the horses he had asked for the ranging Jon had wanted to lead himself, but that felt now like a distant dream. His place was not here at this frozen hell. He would see Winterfell again. Soon.

Flexing his hand once more, he followed Ser Massey to Lady Jeyne’s chamber.

He hadn’t seen her since he had left Winterfell, but Jeyne Poole had grown into a young woman.

Otherwise, she still looked the same. Her hair was still brown and so were her eyes.

The tip of her nose was black as well. Winter was a cruel enemy, but looking at her he could see that her blemished beauty was the least of her suffering.

She had nearly collapsed when she had looked at Jon’s face.

Lady Alysanne had entered first, but it seemed her foresight had not been enough.

The girl was still trembling when Lady Mormont was helping her sit down on a nearby stool.

"You remember me, don’t you?“ Jon asked Jeyne. "Jon Snow.“

"I do,“ she replied in a trembling voice and didn’t even look at him. She was so thin and fragile. She was a broken creature. "I do…I am glad you are alive…that at least someone is alive.“

"Sansa and Arya,“ Jon began, but when she gave a desperate nod of her head he let it be.

"I have not seen them since Lord Stark’s guard had been butchered, “ Jeyne said. "Not that I want to see Sansa again. It’s all her fault that they are dead. She went to the Queen…all she ever cared for was Prince Joffrey. She betrayed me…she betrayed us all.“

Jon could not make sense of the girl’s confused speech, but he understood her need to blame someone for her misfortune.

"The Bastard of Bolton will die,“ Jon told her and searched her sad face. "I will bring you his head, my lady. And when all is said and done, I shall return your father’s lands to you.“

Jeyne Poole stared at him for a long time before breaking down in tears.

She was shaking so badly that Lady Alysanne had to lead her out into the hall.

"The Bastard of Bolton is a monster,“ the Lady explained. "Be glad your sister did not suffer like her, my lord.“

Jon gritted his teeth. "I am glad.“

The leaders of the free folk had already gathered when Jon joined them. There was ale and wine being served and the mood was all-around jolly, but Jon felt neither need for drink nor food.

He only wanted to leave as soon as possible.

"I need at least three or two giants,“ Jon explained to them. "I want to break down the Dreadfort’s gates.“

"That’s the bastard’s castle, no?“ Tormund asked with a nodding head. "Well, I am sure Wun Wun will agree. Ten more have arrived from Eastwach the day before.“

"The rest is needed here,“ Jon explained. "The Night’s Watch is no more, but that doesn’t mean we can ignore the Wall. It’s better for the Free Folk to stay here. Especially, the women and children. South I can only take men and women disciplined enough and prepared to keep the law. No raping and pillaging, do you hear me?“

"But won’t your lords be pissing themselves if you bring us south?“ Harle the Huntsman added. "How can we be sure that we won’t be killed if we walk through Umber lands.“

He had pointed on the map, where the sigil of the Umbers was displayed.

"Those Umbers have no love for us, Lord Crow.“

"They will curse me, but I am still Lord Eddard Stark’s son. They will not kill us if we are careful.“

"As you say,“ the Magnar of Thenn added. "You have my trust, Lord Crow. And the others should as well.“

"My father’s men might join us if they see my banner among yours,“ Lady Alys added.

Jon smiled approvingly. "That’s good, my lady, but I think it would be even better to bring our captive as well. I wonder if they will not think twice to fight us if we have their Lord Arnolf’s son walk before us.“

Lady Alys gave a curt nod. "I shall not miss him, Lord Snow.“

"Then, it is decided,“ Jon replied. "We shall depart at dawn.“

No further questions were asked, as Jon retreated back to his chamber.

He felt still weak, but that might just be the lack of food in his belly.

A knock at the door startled him then.

He opened and found Val in front of his door.

He allowed her entrance, though he wanted to do nothing more than sleep.

"I assume you are going to march with us?“ Jon asked.

"For sure,“ Val confirmed. "I don’t want another one of the Queen’s knights to try stealing me. They might get stupid ideas while they are guarding that…that girl. She is another reason I do not want to stay here.“

"Are you so afraid of her?“ He asked with a wry smile. "I told you there is nothing to be afraid of.“

"she is cursed,“ Val insisted icily. "It would be kinder to kill her now before she kills others.“

Jon exhaled deeply and rubbed his temples in frustration. His chest was aching again.

"You and your spear wives are welcome.“

„I thank you,“ she said and eyed Jon with a strange expression in her grey-blue eyes.

She bit her lips and Jon felt the heat stir inside his breeches.

Like a boy that had never touched a girl.

Perhaps he was not as dead as he had thought.

She must have been able to tell what he was thinking, for she pushed the door close.

Jon still felt the head inside his breeches and the throbbing in his head.

He did not love Val. He had loved Ygritte or at least that was what he believed, but she was dead and gone.

Val he desired, nothing more than that.

And perhaps that had to be enough for him.

…


	9. Tyrion

**Tyrion**

Tyrion watched the stars, the moon nothing more than a thin blade cast upon a black cloak.

The ship was piercing through the fog, the sea restless and black as the night. Tyrion shuddered as he waddled over to the railing and look down.

It was an endless abyss but not as terrible as the uncertainty gnawing at his heart.

They had made it so far and yet he had a bad feeling about returning to Westeros.

When he had left he had been full of hatred for the world. He had wanted to see everyone burn and suffer like himself, but now his heart had eased and he felt calmer than ever.

Perhaps he had to thank Penny for this or the Princess, who had given him a new purpose, or perhaps he had simply grown tired of being angry.

Aye, that must be the reason. He still wanted to see Cersei squirm and couldn’t bring himself to forgive Jaime for his betrayal, but he was sick and tired of being miserable.

He wanted to live, even it if was the life of a miserable dwarf.

"There you are, lord Lannister,“ the soft voice of the Princess rang in his ears. She was like an appearance of light in the white pelt that covered her head and shoulders. It was some sort of a lion but Tyrion wasn’t sure. "I was afraid you might jump.“

Tyrion knew she was jesting. "No. I have no intention to die. I intend to grow very old and die from too much wine and women in my bed.“

The Princess smiled and came to stand beside him.

Above their heads was Drogon, the black-winged beast that the Princess had hatched from three-stone eggs that had been gifted her by Magister Illyrio.

Tyrion had heard the tale from Ser Jorah’s lips and had seen the other two dragons during the battle for Meeren. They had come down from their sleeping places and had burned the slavers while Ser Barristan had led the Unsullied into battle.

Now, they were gone, taken away by no other than Victarion Greyjoy, who had used some sort of magical horn to put a spell on them.

The queen had been wroth by grief when she had woken that morning, her two children stolen from her by this Iroborn man that had deemed himself her third husband.

It had been the last straw and the queen had left Meereen a week turn later, after leaving the city in the hands of a servant of hers. A man everyone called the Shavepate.

Tyrion had been glad for it, but had suggested going first to Braavos to replenish their stocks and have an audience with the Sealord of Braavos.

Granted they had to lie through their teeth to get this loan, but then Princess Daenerys wasn’t afraid to play her friends and enemies alike when it served her people.

She was young and a bit too soft of heart, but that was what Tyrion liked about her.

She had an innocence to her, and idealism he admired, for he had long ago lost the belief in goodness.

Still, a queen needed more than a good heart, but also a good head upon her shoulders. Daenerys Targaryen had plenty of wit and enough charm and beauty to bring men to her feet, but that wouldn’t change the fact that many a lord in Westeros would not be pleased to have a woman on the throne.

The last one who had attempted it had failed horribly, but then the Princess‘ false nephew had no dragons.

Only Lord Connington, the cheesemonger, and presumedly the Golden Company.

The best sellsword company that could be bought by coin, but still only men bought with promises of coin, marriages, and titles.

Tyrion had no doubt that Drogon’s presence would help to change their minds.

That was if Lord Victarion Greyjoy hadn’t used his stolen dragons long before they made it to Westeros.

"You are so quiet today,“ she said and leaned on the railing. "Usually you are talking like a waterfall.“

"I had no wine today,“ he told her. "I thought it is time to quit drinking.“

The Princess gave him a surprised look. "What brought this on?“

"Penny,“ he admitted to his embarrassment. "She told me to stop. She says it makes me dim-witted.“

The Princess chuckled. "You are far from dim-witted, my lord Lannister.“

The sound of it made Tyrion’s heart race.

"Does that mean I should continue drinking, then?“

"No,“ the Princess replied and straightened herself. "I prefer you like this, my lord. I fear I will have to need your help. There is much I need to know about Westeros…Ser Barristan is a good man and true, but he only tells me the good things, whereas Ser Jorah only tells me the bad things. He tells me that I should not trust you.“

"Ser Jorah is a bitter man,“ Tyrion replied. „He hates the Starks most of all. As for Westeros, I do not know what we can expect, but I doubt we will be welcomed warmly. Westeros has suffered greatly. If you wish to be queen, you must defeat your enemies and take what is yours with fire and blood. That is the only way.“

The Princess nodded her head in agreement. She looked sad and slightly lost.

"Lady Arya told me that her father died like a traitor. Her brother was murdered in front of her eyes and her lady mother thrown into the river Trident. My brother used to call Lord Eddard Stark the usurper dog, but he is dead and gone. I do not think I want to fight his children. I like Lady Arya.“

"And she will without a doubt be useful to you, your grace,“ Tyrion agreed and was still amazed when he thought that the girl had found them in Braavos. "But our way is still far and you should lower your expectations. Your nephew has the advantage of time and this Victarion Greyjoy has two of your dragons.“

"He does,“ Daenerys replied. "But I do not think he can control them. His horn is a trick, nothing more than a whistle to lure my children to him. I shall free them and then I will make Lord Greyjoy pay for his crimes.“

Tyrion laughed. "I doubt anyone will miss them. The Greyjoys are not well-liked in Westeros. You were wise to refuse his attentions.“

The Princess nodded her head and left him not long after. Tyrion remained for a while longer before returning to his chamber.

The morning was less cold, but he still kept close to the brazier as he was breaking his fast in the company of Penny and the queen’s ladies. They spoke Bastard Valyrian well, but they did not like speaking to Tyrion.

Lady Arya was also there, seated beside the bull’s eye and watching the stormy sea outside.

She was a quiet girl, much like her brother Jon Snow, but also much prettier. Tyrion had hardly recognized her when he had first seen her in Winterfell, but there was a wild beauty to the girl, so very different from his little wife, but in some way also similar.

She was beautiful, but the girl cared little about appearance. She wore the same garb all day and could barely bother to brush her hair, leaving it in a tangle of curls.

It had been Princess Daenerys' idea to have it braided in the Dothraki way and ever since Lady Arya wore it like that.

It made her appear even more feral.

"Are you not hungry, my lady?“ the Princess asked the girl. "You haven’t even touched your food.“

"I am well,“ Arya Stark replied and looked up. "Your grace.“

"Call me Dany.“

"Dany,“ Lady Arya corrected herself and picked a dried date from the plate her queen had offered her. "I thank you.“

"Eat or you will strive before we arrive at Dragonstone.“

Lady Arya nodded her head and ate in silence. She ate two more dates before she spoke up again.

"Dany,“ she said. "Will you meet with my brother?“

The Princess nodded her head in agreement. "I shall send for him once I have returned to Dragonstone. I am sure he will come if he reads a letter from your hand, won’t he?“

Arya stark grinned. She looked almost like a young child at that moment.

Almost.

Her dark eyes betrayed that she had seen much more than some old men could tell.

"Jon would recognize my horrible scribbling among thousands.“

"Your brother is a clever lad. A bit sullen, but clever nevertheless.“

The Lady Arya grimaced when Tyrion looked at her. He had told her that he had never touched her sister, but she didn’t care to listen.

She hated him.

"Jon can smile.“

"Your brother must be an impressive person if you love him so much,“ the Princess replied.“I had a brother too, but he was cruel and threatened my life.“

„Viserys,“ Lady Arya replied. „I heard from him. He was killed by your Dothraki husband. Even in Braavos, this tale is well-known.“

"I didn’t want him to die,“ the Princess replied. "But Drogo would have killed him anyway. With or without my bidding. He drew a blade in his halls. A crime that could only mean death. Still, I miss him at times.“

"I miss Sansa as well,“ Lady Arya replied and glared at Tyrion. "She is annoying and she talks too much, but she was my sister and I just ran away, leaving her alone. Now she is dead and gone. Jon is the only one left.“

"Another thing we have in common, my lady,“ the Princess replied softly and wrapped her arms around her drawn-up knees. "And you, Lord Tyrion.“

Tyrion shrugged his shoulders.

"My brother and sister are still alive,“ Tyrion replied. "But they are dead to me. I suppose that makes me an only child.“

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to add more drabbles when I have time to spare. Probably some other characters as well, besides my faves: Tyrion, Dany, Jon, and Arya ; )


	10. Jon

**Jon**

They had marched for days through this landscape of white. Soon enough, they had brushed the Karstark lands, where Lady Alys had appealed to some of her bannermen, who had decided to follow them despite Lord Arnolf Karstark’s betrayal.

More than two hundred men had joined them, not much, but still better than nothing. In total, they counted two-thousand men and three giants. Wun Wun was their leader, though he was still hurt from the incident during the munity.

The sky grew only darker the further south they marched. Jon knew the way, but the constant snowfall made it hard to keep on track. By morn, the road was covered with thick layers of snow. They also had to be careful an avoid frightening the smallfolk.

The giants alone would scare the living shit out of these poor folk. Jon himself had a hard time believing that giants were real.

Just like all the other things that had happened to him. He had been inside Ghost and even now he often found himself sleeping into his wolf’s pelt. At night, he always found himself chasing through the wolfswood, trying to find his next supper.

In the morning, his mouth was then always filled with the taste of iron. Today, was such a day.

As always, Jon had woken before dawn and had found Val sleeping beside him, still wrapped inside her furs. It had become some sort of a habit after she had started to share his bed.

Yet, even her calming presence, could not banish away the nightmares that haunted him at times. Only, his wolf dreams granted him somewhat of a relief.

"It’s in the middle of the night,“ Val complained to him, but Jon didn’t care. He quickly dressed and climbed out of his tent.

The air was icy and pierced his skin like a sharp blade.

He gritted his teeth and stamped through the snow, finding Ghost lingering at the edge of the woods, blood soiling his mouth.

"There you are, boy,“ he said and patted the wolf’s head. "Have you been hunting?“

The wolf made a yawning sound and came to his side, brushing his head against her side.

"Have you seen anyone?“

Ghost just looked at him and turned his head.

"Is there someone?“ Jon asked him and patted his head.

Ghost licked his cheek instead of answering him. Not that he would speak, but Ghost was smarter than normal wolves.

"What are you doing, Lord Crow?“ the Magnar of Thenn’s voice rang in his ears and made him turn his head.

"I don’t know,“ Jon replied. "But we should move on as soon as possible.“

The Magnar of Thenn nodded his head in confirmation.

"My men are always ready to move. Those southron knights on the other hand…,“ he trailed off."

"They are not used to the cold,“ Jon replied an rubbed his shoulder against the cold. "But we need their help. They have horses and proper armour.“

"Aye,“ the Magnar confirmed. "We will have need of their pretty armour.“

By sunrise, they were moving again.

Fresh snow was falling by late morning and by midday an icy storm was brewing.

No wonder Stannis was defeated by the Bastard of Bolton. He must have been weakened by the storm.

It was the only possible explanation.

Despite the storm, they were moving on an appropriate pace. The landscape was familiar and told him that they were close to the Umber Lands or might have even entered them.

Whatever may happen to them, it was only a matter of time before one of the Umbers would show his face.

"Jon,“ Val’s called him back. "One of our outriders is returning…,“ she trailed off and pointed into the distance.

Jon narrowed his gaze to get a better look.

Val was right.

This man belonged to them.

"What tidings do you bring?“ Jon asked the man. He was one of the queen’s knights, but he could not remember her name. "Did one of the Umbers find you?“

"Aye,“ the man confirmed. "We came about a man who claims to serve Mors Umber, but that is not all…they claim that the king’s men are with him.“

Jon felt a chill ran down his spine. For a brief moment, he almost believed that it might be possible that Stannis might still be alive, but when he felt the cold on his skin, which brought him back to reality. King Stannis mus be dead and these men must be the remnants of his army who were trying to retreat back to their queen.

Unless…unless the Bastard of Bolton had lied again?

"Bring us to this man,“ Jon commanded and not long after, they were rushing to meet with Mors Umber’s envoy.

The man’s name escaped Jon, but his face was familiar.

"Welcome,“ the big man seated atop a brown courser, greeted them. Above fluttered the banner of House Umber. „Lord Snow Commander Snow.“

"I assume Lord Umber is not pleased with our presence?“ Jon asked. "But we came to help you fight our common enemy.“

"Lord Mors is no friend of Wildlings, but king Stannis is his guest,“ the man explained. "And you are his alley, no?“

"We are allies,“ Jon confirmed.

Mors Umber’s captain of the guard led them the rest of the way to the Last Hearth. It was a rather small castle compared to Winterfell, but its walls were thick and high enough to occupy an army for a long time.

 _Our stocks are filled_ , the captain of the guards had told them during the travel. _And now king Stannis‘ men are draining it._

When they rode through the castle gates, the man’s words were confirmed. Last Hearth was filled tot he brim with knights and men-at-arms, boy green boys and greybeards alike. The bright banners of king Stannis were visible everywhere.

Yet, they were not alone. King Stannis‘ banners were joined by the banners of the Mountain clans and House Manderly.

Even so, his army seemed a mismatch of colours and chaos. They had not been victorious, so much was clear.

"I shall lead you to my lord,“ Mors Umber’s captain of the guard announced both to Jon and the knights that had followed after him. "He will be pleased to see you.“

Jon was not so sure about that and followed after the man that lead him inside the castle. A handful of the queen’s men followed him as well, their whispering nothing more than a distant echo to his ears.

The warmth of the great hall left Jon almost breathless, but the queen’s men sighed in relief.

Jon rubbed his hands as he was lead towards the high seat, where he found the Crowfoot seated in the Greatjon’s high seat. He was a very old man, huge and powerful, with a ruddy face and a shaggy white beard, and garbed in a cloak made of a snow bear with its head as a hood.

"Lord Commander Snow,“ he greeted him and eyed him from head to toe. "You are without question Ned’s boy.“

"And I brought wildlings,“ Jon added bluntly. "I must ask for your forgiveness, my lord Umber.“

The old man scoffed. "The times have changed. The North is no longer ruled by the Starks but by the bloody Bastard of Bolton. A few hundred wildlings are nothing compared to that.“

"I was told that King Stannis is still alive,“ Jon added with great relief. "Where is he?“

"Recovering,“ Mors Umber. "Half his men starved and the other half nearly froze during our march back here. It was a grim retreat.“

"Retreat,“ Jon repeated. "What happened?“

"The king will tell you himself,“ Mors replied and rose to his feet. "But first you ought to eat and rest yourself. Will these wildlings of yours, keep their peace?“

"I can assure you that they will keep the peace,“ Jon replied and lowered his head in reverence.

"Good,“ Mors Umbers said and patted his shoulder. "Because if one of them touches any of our women, I will bite off their cocks personally.“

Jon laughed but knew the old man was serious about this.

"You have my promise.“

Jon, the queen’s men and the wildling leaders were invited to break their fast on ale and fresh broth. It was a strange feast, full of mistrust and jolly bickering. At times, Jon feared a battle might break out at any moment, but by the end of the day, no one had been killed.

It was a true miracle.

"This castle is bigger than Castle Black,“ Val said as she eyed the great hall. Jon was amused. "How big is Winterfell?“

"Much bigger,“ Jon added, though he had the feeling that he would not like what he would find there. _A burned ruin_ , he guessed. "But the walls are not as thick.“

„The last Hearth could never compare to Winterfell, my lady“, the Crowfoot added in a slurred tone and took another swag from his wooden cup. He also seemed fascinated by Val, because he was constantly staring at her across the table. „It’s not as old and not as magical. Speaking of magic, you do remind me of someone…you look…like my wife.“

Jon couldn’t blame him for his foolish behaviour. Val was very beautiful compared to most wildlings and the old man’s wife had died a long time ago.

"You were lucky then, my lord,“ Jon added politely.

Val eyed the old man with a frown. "I am not so sure about that, Jon.“

"Her name was Serra,“ the old man added sadly. He tears were shining in his eyes. "She had pretty pale hair like you, my lady…my daughter as well. Looked just like her…she was carried off by one of your kind.“

Val froze beside him.

"Someone stole your daughter, my lord kneeler?“

The Crowfoot hadn’t even noticed her insult. He was bloody drunk in a sentimental mood.

Jon knew he should have left, but something in the back of his head was prodding him to inquire further.

He had heard the tale of his daughter from Old Nan’s lips, but until now he had never thought much o fit.

Could it be possible or was it just a coincidence?

"What was the name of your daughter, my lord?“ Jon asked the weeping old man.

"Daella,“ he replied and took another swag. "Such a sweet girl and my only daughter.“

Val had grown even more rigid when the old man had said this.

Jon touched her arm and she simply stared back at him with wide grey-blue eyes.

"Are you well?“

„No,“ she replied and rose to her feet. She looked like a rabbit being chased by a wild bear. "I must go. Forgive me, I have had enough of this ale of yours.“

"Did I frighten her away?“ the old man asked later. "Didn’t think wildling woman could be that sensible, but then I never thought they could be so pretty either.“

Jon felt the urge to voice his suspicions, but Val’s reaction told me that it wouldn’t be welcomed.

"I must see the king,“ Jon said at last and emptied his cup. "Preferably now.“

Jon got what he wanted and was lead to king Stannis by no one other than Ser Godry Farring, who had lost none of his arrogance.

"I am glad to find you well, Ser Farring,“ Jon said as he was leading him along the corridor. „The bastard implied you all died.“

"The bastard is a bloody liar,“ the man snorted and left Jon standing in front of a large wooden door. "And you better not bother his grace too long.“

Two guards were also there and Jon sucked in a deep breath to prepare himself inwardly.

The tower in which the king resided was not larger than Maester Aemon’s residence at Castle Black, but there was a warm fire burning in the hearth and furred carpets covered the polished floor.

King Stannis was of course surrounded by his men. He recognized Ser Cleyton and Ser Corlis and some more. They all looked at him as if they had expected him to come, but they didn’t look particularly pleased by his sudden appearance.

Naturally, the king didn’t smile either, but then Jon doubted he would even smile at his own crowning.

Stannis Baratheon was not a man born for smiles.

Yet, he was alive and looked relatively well. His face was quite pale and hollow from exhaustion, but the white bindings around his neck didn’t imply a deadly wound.

"Leave us,“ the King told his men without further hesitation. "I must speak alone with Lord Commander Snow.“

"Technically I am no longer the Lord Commander, your grace,“ Jon explained and knelt.

King Stannis didn’t seem to care for the formality and came straight to the point.

"Get up, because the floor is cold and unpleasant, Lord Snow. And now tell me, how are my queen and daughter?“

"They were well when I left the Wall,“ Jon assured him. "I am sure they will be pleased to hear about your survival, but then Lady Melisandre was never swayed from her belief in this matter. Neither was your wife.“

King Stannis gave a brief nod.

"I heard there was a munity. They said you died, but here you are. I hoped for it.“

Jon assumed so much. "The bastard’s letter told me you died as well, your grace.“

"The bastard only wrote what he believed to be true,“ King Stannis explained. "I asked Crowfoot’s brother to bring the bastard my rotten head. It seems my deception worked.“

Jon frowned. "Deception? What happened at Winterfell? The Crowfoot wouldn’t tell me anything…“ he trailed off.

"I defeated the Frey troops at the crofter’s village,“ King Stannis explained. "But the bastard has more cunning than I thought possible. He never joined the battle and held Manderly’s men back as well. He knew I was laying out a trap for him and abandoned the battle when he saw that his Frey allies were losing.“

"And you did not pursue?“ Jon asked.

"My men were starved and exhausted,“ Stannis replied. "And the bastard fled back to Winterfell. I could have never taken it with Ramsay Bolton defending it.“

"And that’s why you retreated to Last Hearth,“ Jon said with a nod. "It makes all sense now. You said that the Crowfoot’s brother brought the bastard of Bolton your rotten head…Does that mean he is still with the enemy?“

"He is spying on them for us,“ the King confirmed Jon’s suspicions. "And what he is telling is not exactly promising.“

"How so?“ Jon asked. „The bastard has lost his most important allies…the Freys.“

"He still has several thousand fresh men at his disposal,“ the King snapped angrily. "And he is now hiding at the Dreadfort and took all of Winterfell’s stocks with them.“

"Clever,“ Jon replied. "But I doubt his walls will be much use to him if I bring our giants.“

"I saw your giants,“ the King replied. „And I am glad you brought them, Lord Snow, but even that will not prevent another bloody battle. And there is more, according to the Crowfoot’s brother, the bastard butchered everyone that had still resided at Winterfell…Lord Too-fat-to-sit-atop-a-horse apparently murdered Roose Bolton in cold blood. In turn, the bastard of Bolton tortured him to death. They also say he butchered his father’s wife and fed her unborn infant to his dogs.“

Jon felt bile rise up in his throat.

"That answers why Lord Manderly’s men are with you.“

"I hated the fat lord for killing my onion knight,“ the king replied bitterly. "But he did us a great service by killing Roose Bolton.“

Jon nodded his head.

"The girl you sent to me was not my sister,“ Jon added quickly. „But steward’s daughter. Jeyne Poole.“

The King didn’t seem moved by the revelation. "It seems this bastard holds a certain love for mummeries.“

"It wasn’t his idea,“ Jon replied. "Lady Jeyne told me that a certain Littlefinger sold her to the Boltons.“

"Another filthy rat,“ the King said. "Well, I suppose that makes you my only chance to get the North.“

Jon shook his head.

"I doubt it, your grace. These men will never fight for your crown. They can barely hold the North.“

The King didn’t look stunned.

"We will see about that, Lord Snow.“

Jon swallowed hard. „As you wish, your grace. We should speak about your plans.“

"First, we wait and rest,“ the king replied. „And then we plan. I will not sacrifice my last men unnecessarily. We must strike at the right moment. It's the only way. I doubt we will get another chance.“

…


	11. Daenerys

**Daenerys**

Her nephew’s court had assembled in the dragonpit. Viserys had told her many stories about this place, but she had expected it to be grander and less of a ruin.

Drogon didn’t seem to like this place either, for he was spreading his wings far and wide and making roaring sounds. Hot plumes of smoke were rising from his nostrils as he landed before in the crumbling ruin.

She had not brought her armies or her men. She had not wanted to appear hostile. And Drogon was her most trusted protector. No enemy could frighten her in when he was with her.

Neither could her nephew’s court.

There were hundreds of them, many whom Dany didn’t know, but the young man seated in a beautiful chair must be her nephew.

As Tyrion had told her, he had the silver hair and the purple eyes of his ancestors, but other than that she saw little resemblance to her brother Rhaegar in the young man, whom she had seen so many ages ago in during her brief stay in the House of the Undying.

Elia Martell, she had never met, but the young woman seated beside him showed somewhat of a resemblance to her younger brother Prince Quentyn Martell. They shared the same kind of dark eyes and the rather short stature. Their skin tone looked the same, a beautiful golden colour.

Yet, their face couldn’t be any different. Arianne Martell was beautiful, whereas her brother had been merely comely.

Even so, Dany had not wanted him to die. Not like this.

There were two more men that stood out prominently among her nephew’s court. There was a tall and red-haired man with a very pale face. She couldn’t describe it, but he looked very sickly as if he was close to death.

The other man was plump and garbed in pink robes of silk and smelled like a pillow girl from Lys. He had a bare had and there was something threatening in his eyes.

Dany didn’t like him and Drogon seemed to share her feeling, for he could barely be calmed.

„Leave us,“ she whispered to her child and watched with a smile how he returned to the sky.

Her nephew’s court had watched in awe.

When her dragon had returned to the sky, she shifted her attention back to her nephew.

An unsure smile was playing on his lips as he looked upon her.

"You must be Aegon,“ Dany said before he could speak. She had no interest in feigned formalities. She wanted to know if there was any truth to his tale. "Lord Tyrion Lannister told me much about you.“

Gasps could be heard among the courtiers.

"The dwarf is alive?“ the sickly man with the red hair asked. He didn’t seem particularly pleased by Dany’s revelation. "I can scarcely believe it.“

"He is my alley now,“ Dany explained. "I mean to return Casterly Rock to him.“

"I promised the Westerlands to the Golden Company,“ her nephew replied unhappily. He looked unsure and confused in her presence. She wondered if the dragon had something to do with it, but she wasn’t quite sure. "You should not have made promises on my behalf.“

"I made promises on my own behalf,“ Dany replied curtly. "And I heard that you have yet to retake Casterly Rock from Cersei Lannister, who has fled the city, no?“

Aegon frowned. "That is true, but it is only a matter of time…I had hoped we could work together.“

"Work together?“ Dany asked sweetly. "First I must know that you are truly who you claim to be. Tell me, why did you never show your face to me in all those years my brother and I were begging on the streets?“

Aegon looked as if she had slapped him hard.

It was the red-headed man who answered for him.

"It would have been far too dangerous. Surely, you understand…,“ he tried to explain, but Dany cut him off.

"What must I understand? That my brother was mocked when he tried to employ the Golden Company, but that you…a person who I have never even heard about earned their loyalty with a flicker of his hand. Tell me the truth, why did you not show your face earlier? Were my brother of no use to you? I guess my dragons changed your mind, though it was not enough reason for you to come and help your last living relative.“

"I meant to…,“ Aegon began, but Dany wanted to hear none of his poor excuses.

"I meant…I could have…these are empty promises,“ Dany replied coldly. "Why should I believe you? Why should I surrender my family’s crown to a pretender?“

The whispering had only intensified after she had spoken these words. They had been burning on her tongue since Tyrion had first told her about Aegon’s existence.

"Because Dorne stands with him,“ Princess Arianne Martell added. There was a coldness to her voice that told Dany that she held little love for her. "He is Elia Martell’s son. I know it. And at least, he didn’t murder my brother.“

Dany was surprised to hear these words. She had sent Quentyn’s companions back home with their Prince’s ashes and her heartfelt condolences.

What did they tell the Princess of Dorne?

"I didn’t kill your brother,“ Dany replied and met the young woman’s gaze. "He tried to tame one of my dragon’s and died for it. I warned him, but he didn’t listen. I send you his ashes and feel sad about his death. He was a good man.“

"They say you rejected and mocked him,“ Princess Arianne insisted.

"I was promised to someone else,“ Dany replied and was getting frustrated with these conversations. She wanted answers, not baseless accusations. "And I would have gladly wed your brother if he just came earlier. I am sure my brother would have also been pleased to wed you, Princess Arianne. He always dreamed of going home. Well, your father waited too long.“

"Another person you killed,“ Princess Arianne replied and gritted her teeth. "Everyone knows you had your Dothraki husband murder him in cold blood.“

Dany couldn’t help but laugh. "You should find yourself better spies, Princess. My brother died because he threatened my unborn child and dared to draw a blade in my husband’s halls. Maybe Magister Illyrio should not have convinced my brother to sell me to a Dothraki horse lord, but then he is not here either, is he?“

"I never wanted you to wed a horselord,“ Aegon added then. "It was not…,“ he began, but Dany cut him off.

"It seems you are not much more than a puppet then,“ Dany replied bitterly. „Tell me, false nephew, where are the strings that are guiding you? I am surprised you can even speak on your own.“

Dany knew she had gotten the better of him. His cheeks were flushed. He looked like a petulant child that was ready to throw a tantrum.

His angry answer reflected his state of mind.

"I am the king,“ he insisted. "I have retaken the throne while you were playing saviour in Slaver’s Bay…I am Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell’s son. I have Dorne, the Reach and the Stormlands behind me and soon I will have the rest of the Seven Kingdoms behind me. What have you to offer?“

"I have a dragon that obeys me,“ Dany replied. "And an army of my own. An army that is loyal to me. What have you, but a puppet master? Nothing.“

"How dare you!“ he snarled and rose to his feet. The red-headed lord held him by touching his shoulder. "I am the dragon’s son! The way I see it, you are just jealous!“

Dany felt almost amused.

"The way I see it, you thought I would come here, kiss your feet and give you the crown, no? But a crown must be earned and you did nothing to earn it and even less to earn my trust.“

"The people love me,“ Aegon insisted. "I freed them from the Lannisters and I gave them food and protection. Thus, the only way you will ever sit on the throne is by marrying me.“

"Marrying you?“ Dany asked mockingly. "I would rather marry a pig farmer than you, who shows me nothing but disrespect and refuses to answer my questions. Let me ask you again, where is your proof that you are my brother’s son?“

"Because I, Jon Connington, have raised him,“ the red-headed man said stepped forward. "I loved your brother, your grace. I would never lie about such a matter.“

"Which makes you all the more blinded,“ Dany replied. "Lord Tyrion told me about you as well.“

"Damn the dwarf,“ Lord Connington replied. "Don’t you see? He is trying to pit you against your nephew and king?“

"King?“ Dany asked again. "I see no king. Only a petulant little boy, who has never done anything to earn his crown. I shall ever accept him unless he proves his worth to me.“

"What is it that you want?“ Aegon asked then, his face back to its natural colour.

"I want the throne. In turn, I will allow you to be my heir if you are prepared to marry a woman of my choosing.“

Aegon gritted his teeth.

"Is that your last word?“

Dany shook her head. "Not if you can give me proof.“

"Let me have on of your dragons,“ Aegon said. "Let me try taming one. That should be proof enough.“

Dany was sceptical, but she had no other choice.

"In a moon from now, we shall meet again,“ Dany promised. "I shall bring my dragons and you shall get your chance. What do you say?“

Aegon frowned.

"I agree.“

…


	12. Arya

**Arya**

Arya had not slept once through the night the entire journey North. Her dreams had been filled with wolves and death. The last time, she had been home felt almost like a lifetime ago.

All the people she had known were gone. Father. Mother. Robb. Bran and Rickon. She only knew that Jon was still alive, the bastard whom her mother had hated.

It was a strange kind of irony that the Wall had prevented him from dying with Robb. But then, she had also heard the rumours about the trouble that supposedly nearly claimed her brother’s life.

Most of it were only rumours, but she couldn’t help but wonder what truly had happened at the Wall.

Jon, Arya thought with a strange kind of warmth washing over her. I will soon see you again.

Even so, she feared she might just find another stranger. It had been nearly three years since she had last seen him. She remembered him as a young boy with a long face like hers and plain brown hair falling around his pale face like a dark shroud. And his grey eyes, so much like hers, they often haunted her in her dreams.

She just longed to see him as she rose from her bed this morning. The distant glimpse of White Harbour’s buildings was the first thing she saw as she stepped out into the chilly morning air. White mist rose from her lips as she watched the coming and going of the ship hands.

Not long after, Ser Barristan had joined her. He was like her. Ever restless and clearly wished to return to his queen’s side, but Daenerys Targaryen had insisted to send the old knight with her to act as her envoy.

"You are up early, my lady,“ he said, his sky blue gaze searching the distant harbour. "You must be happy to return home after such a long absence.“

"White Harbour is not my home,“ Arya replied and shuddered from head to toe. "Winterfell is still far away and I am afraid of what I will find there.“

"I'm interested to meet your brother,“ Ser Barristan replied. „He sounds like an interesting person. The queen seemed just as intrigued.“

"Jon is a good person,“ Arya replied. "He will be pleased to meet Ser Barristan the Bold. When he was a boy he dreamed of being a knight. Like Aemon the Dragonknight.“

"And yet he joined the Night's Watch?“ Ser Barristan asked. "I am surprised Lord Stark did not find him a place. King Robert would have surely welcomed him in King’s Landing.“

"My father had him raised in Winterfell,“ Arya replied. "Despite my Lady Mother’s protests. I think father just wanted him close. Perhaps it was because he loved his mother very much. Edric Dayne once told me that it might have been a Lady of House Starfall.“

Ser Barristan paled. "I see.“

Arya made use of the moment return to her chamber to dress properly and take care of her tangle of hair. Strangely, she had to think of her lady mother and Sansa. They would have chided her for her tardiness and despite their annoying bickering she wished they were here.

White Harbour was almost deserted as they rode through the ice-crusted streets. She wondered if the cold had driven them back into their houses.

Fresh snow was already falling when they reached the Wolf’s Den, but there she was not expected by Lord Manderly himself, but a haggard man garbed in turquoise garb, the merman of House Madnerly embellished on his vest.

He was familiar, but only when he introduced himself was she able to put a name on him.

It was Lord Manderly’s only surviving son. I am pleased to see you again, my Lady Arya.“

Arya minded her members and dropped a quick curtsy. It was clumsy and silly, but it felt as if she was a child again.

"I am pleased to meet you, Lord Manderly. I hope to stay here for the night and move on to Winterfell on the morrow.“

"My daughter commanded me to see to you,“ he explained in a heavy and exhausted voice. He looked like a man close to death. "Come inside. Your companions are also welcome.“

They were offered meat, bread and soup for supper, but Arya had little appetite. She felt both anxious and fearful of what she would hear.

"They say my brother and Stannis Baratheon have retaken the North. They speak of more death.“

"Your brother and King Stannis are in Winterfell,“ Lord Manderly replied. "My older daughter has joined them in Winterfell, to represent House Manderly. Your brother has called a Great Council to determine the succession of the North.“

Arya was surprised by this revelation. "How so? Is my brother not the only claimant?“

"Rickon Stark is alive,“ Lord Manderly explained. "King Stannis’s Onion Knight has found the boy in Skagos. I could scarcely recognize him. He was like a wild beast and he has even forgotten his native tongue. My father wanted to place him on the throne, but how could a five-year-old rule? As a consequence, the real source of conflict is who will rule the North. There are those who favour your brother, those who hate him because he brought Wildlings from the Wall and those who wish to rule themselves. It’s rather difficult.“

"It sounds like a nightmare,“ Arya agreed. "But my view is quite clear on this matter. Jon will have my support.“

Lord Manderly gave an exhausted nod and smiled warmly at the girl that had just arrived at the door. It was probably his daughter. The younger one. Arya didn’t remember her name.

"I am Lady Wynefryd Manderly,“ she explained and kissed Arya’s cheek. "I am sure you don’t remember me, but I remember you quite well. You threw snowballs at us the last time we saw each other. You were three years old.“

Arya blushed. "I liked to do that.“

"Your sister was not pleased! She squealed like a little pig!“

They both laughed, though the thought of Sansa made her sad.

"I wish she was here with us.“

"Me too,“ the Lady replied and lead Arya to her chambers. "I hope you like your chamber. It's the best room.“

Arya looked at the empty chamber and felt strangely afraid. She didn’t want to be alone.

"My lady,“ she called after her. "Could I sleep in your chamber?“

The Lady gave her a curious look. „Of course. If that is what you want.“

Arya nodded her head. "I want it.“

The other lady smiled and led her to her chamber. "My sister and I used to share our chamber. She will not mind.“

"I shall thank her when I see her in Winterfell.“

The bed was much too soft for her taste, but she slept better than before. Her dreams were filled with nothing more than darkness.

She woke early in the morning when she climbed out of the bed and dressed. In the great hall, Ser Barristan was already waiting for her.

Arya ate nothing but thanked Lord Manderly and his daughter for her kindness.

The sun had risen beyond the distant horizon when she left in the company of Ser Barristan and a guard, the banner of House Manderly flying above their heads.

She did not even look back and realized then that she had not even asked what had happened to Lord Manderly.

They travelled for a whole week before they finally reached Winterfell, all frozen and sniffling. Arya had survived the worst quite quickly, but one of their men had lost an ear and another a nose. Ser Barristan had not complained, but he had suffered just as much. She could see him trembling in his thick armour.

Yet, she forgot all that when she laid eyes on Winterfell.

It looked changed. The grey towers showed marks of fire and were brimming with people. Strangers and familiar faces alike. Wildlings, Northmen and southron lords. There was even a giant. Arya could scarcely believe her eyes.

The sight made her even more fearful. Winterfell was broken, a ruin of her lost childhood.

Arya banished these pain deep into her heart. She had no time for this. She had to find Jon. She had to become Arya again.

And Jon was the only one who could help her with it.

Climbing the stairs to the keep made her think of her childhood, but when she saw the grime and dirt she knew that it would never be the same. It felt so cold here. Devoid of the safety she had once known.

"So this is Winterfell,“ Ser Barristan breathed beside her. Arya’s heart was beating wildly as she was escorted into the great hall.

"Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell! Ser Barristan Selmy!“ someone announced her presence.

It felt as if she was back in King’s Landing, but instead, she found herself in the Great Hall of Winterfell.

Arya’s gaze first went to the rafter’s that were charred from the fire that must have raged here. The trestle tables were also gone, but the room was filled with a good hundred people.

All eyes were on Arya. She heard their whispering, but she didn’t care about them. She had only eyes for her brother, who was seated in her father’s chair.

At the first glance, she thought her father had returned to her, but when she looked upon his face. It was sharper than her father’s and his eyes looked darker than before. His face was unnaturally pale and his grey clothing irritated her a little. The Jon she had known would have never worn Stark clothing.

Could this be a pretender who had stolen Jon’s identity?

Within the blink of a moment, he had risen to his feet.

Yet, only when she heard his voice, all her doubts were banished away

"Arya!“

…


	13. Jon

**Jon**

As always, Jon woke early in the morn, waking by the sounds stirring outsides his chamber. It was the sound of footsteps and the southing of men both in the Old and Common Tongue.

His head was still aching from the night before. He had stayed awake all night in the company of Arya, exchanging tales of what had transpired in these last two years of separation.

Jon had become the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and Arya had been lost in the Riverlands before traveling to Braavos and then returned to Westeros in the company of no other than Princess Daenerys Targaryen.

The tale sounded utterly mad, but Jon had no reason to question his little sister’s tale. Even so, it felt unbelievable that his little sister was still alive. That is why he had gone back to her chamber more than once to see whether she was the real Arya or not or just another pretender.

No, this was truly Arya, though she had changed much since he had last seen her. She was no longer a little girl but showed the first signs of womanhood. She had grown at least half a head and her face had changed into sofer, pretty features. Not that Arya had ever been ugly to him, but even her hair was less untidy as he recalled when he touched it.

"What are you doing?“ she asked him then and woke from her slumber. Her face had a proper tan, but there was something in her grey eyes. They looked as if they had seen more of the world than a young girl her age ought to. "Why are you even here and not in bed? Are you not tired, brother?“

"Not as much as most,“ Jon replied and pulled his hand away. He was sure that Val was waiting for him and he would love nothing more than to bury himself inside her and forgot about Stannis, the Free Folk, and the rest of the quarreling lords that either hated or pressured him into taking the crown. "But then I doubt I will sleep much until I have found a solution to this conundrum.“

"Rickon is here, is he not?“ Arya asked. "I want to see him.“

Jon smiled warmly. "I am sure he will be pleased to see you…in his own way.“

"Lord Manderly told me he is half a Wildling.“

"He spent the last years at Skagos,“ Jon explained and went to the hearth, where he stirred the flames back to life. "Living among Wildlings. He was just a babe when your mother and father left him. He spat at me when he saw me and told me that I am not his father.“

Arya nodded her head and crawled out of her bed. She was only dressed in her tunic and quickly pulled on her breeches and worn-out leather boots. Her hair was a tangle, but she didn’t seem to care much.

"He will come around, I am sure of it.“

"It is not only that,“ Jon replied. "Our brother is a child and that makes our position all the more dangerous. King Stannis’s man found him and brought him here. The Northmen owe him for that, but at the same time, there is great discontent. No one wants to fight another war in the south…fighting the Lannisters might have tempted the Northmen, but this Targaryen pretender…they say half the Riverlands have already allied themselves with him in hopes of finding a semblance of peace.“

"And the Vale,“ Jon replied before Arya could speak. "Is in the hands of this Petyr Baelish, a former Lannister loyalist. The Westerlands are in chaos and Dorne has allied itself with this Targaryen Pretender. They also say that the Ironborn has chosen a new King. Euron Greyjoy, who is now pillaging his way through the Reach. It is a true mess, Arya.“

"You must think of the North,“ Arya told him and took his hand. "And to bring back order. Then, you can worry about the rest of Westeros.“

Jon couldn’t help but smile and leaned over to ruffle Arya’s hair. When had his little sister become so wise?

Arya chuckled when he was done and brushed her hand through her tangle of hair ."You made it even worse, but I missed this.“

"I missed you the most,“ Jon admitted then and wrapped his arms around Arya, pulling her into a tight embrace. She did not resist. "I thought you were dead.“

"But I am not dead, stupid!“ she chided him and freed herself from his embrace. Ghost stirred in that moment and came to her side, brushing her cheek. "And you! You are even worse!“

"Nymeria used to do that as well,“ Arya said later when they sat together to break their fast. "I miss her so much, but I don’t think she would come back here when she had known freedom.“

"Probably not,“ Jon agreed and noticed that Val was seated in the company of Lady Alys Karstark and several other spear wives. They were eating and drinking and enjoying themselves. "But it is good that you managed to spare her Lady’s fate.“

"And Sansa,“ Arya said between bites. "Have you heard anything about her?“

"No,“ Jon replied. "But I wish it was different.“

Arya nodded her head and took a sip from the ale. "So, when will this Great Council be held?“

"The next full moon,“ Jon replied and rose to his feet when he glimpsed Lady Osha coming towards him. The Wildling woman gave him a quick nod. "Rickon is prepared to see you.“

Arya left her food as if she had never been hungry and quickly pulled her cloak over her shoulders.

"Let us see to our brother.“

Jon exhaled deeply and followed after his sister. Rickon looked as he had left him. His red hair hung in tattered waves of red to his shoulders and he was garbed in rough-spun and fur. He was a true Wildling, without a hint of civilization inside him.

"What do you want from me?“ he asked angrily and looked at Jon. His voice was laced with a heavy accent. „I told you to leave me alone. I don’t want your stupid crown. I am now a man of Skagos.“

His big black wolf whom he had called Shaggy was beside him, baring his sharp teeth.

"You are Rickon Stark!“ Arya reminded her brother. "Not some bloody Wildling!“

The boy did not listen to reason and spat on Arya’s boots. "You and everyone left me! I hate you all! I don’t need you and I never want to be a Lord or a King! I am not your brother! I am now a man of Skagos!“

With these words, he climbed back atop his wolf’s head and rose away, back to his brothers.

Fresh snow was falling then and Lady Osha appeared. She was a tall and imposing woman like Val, but much more comely.

"He is just angry because that Kneeler King of yours watches him day and night. He does not like being locked up.“

Jon nodded his head in understanding. "I shall speak to the King.“

"Bloody hell,“ Arya said as they were walking through the godswood. "I didn’t think it was that bad. Rickon as truly become a Wildling.“

"King Stannis suggested dragging him and tying him to father’s throne. I fear he would just bite off an ear or strangle himself. To put it bluntly, I do not know what to do. I know you don’t want to hear it, but with Rickon unable to rule…“ trailed off.

Arya stopped then and pulled him towards the Weirwood. They sat down, Jon seated on the grass and Arya crosslegged beside him. "I know that might sound like utter madness to you, but you should take the crown yourself. You are old enough to rule and you have the experience. Rickon is a child and I …even if I would agree to take the crown…any man who marries me would take Winterfell.“

Jon shook his head. "I am just a bastard. I cannot take the crown. Never.“

Arya grabbed his arm tighter. "Who says that? Mother? Father? Robb? Theon? I think you have forgotten that they are all dead and gone, Jon. We are all that is left and bloody hell, that means we can make our own rules.“

Jon laughed and shook his head in disbelief. "You are fierce as ever, little sister, but the Lords of the North do not love me. Many distrust me for bringing Wildings to Winterfell. Some even call me an oathbreaker and a skin-changer.“

"Fuck them, I say!“ she snapped and rose to her feet. "What can they do if I support you? And you heard Rickon. He doesn’t want the crown!“

"He is a child of five,“ Jon replied and rose back to his feet as well. It was time he spoke to the King. He had asked him to join him this evening, but meeting with Arya had been more important for him than anything in the world. "He does not know what he says. Well, anyway, I must now meet with the King and his pesky lords. Will you be fine without me?“

Arya smiled and touched his arm. "I could also come with you. Or do I bother you?“

"No,“ Jon replied. "Not at all. I just thought you would be bored by all this. I do not mind your presence at all.“

Arya grinned. "Then, I shall come with you. And afterward, you must meet Ser Barristan. You promised to speak with him.“

"Aye,“ Jon confirmed. "I wouldn't dare to send away Ser Barristan Selmy before I have spoken to him.“

King Stannis was surrounded by his wife, his Red Witch, the Onion Knight, and a good dozen of his loyal knights. There was even Asha Greyjoy, seated in a chair beside the hearth. She was a comely young woman who always glared at Jon as if it had been him who had sacrificed her brother to the Red God.

Not that Jon had wept for Theon, but he could understand the pain of losing a sibling. Therefore, he couldn’t help but feel pity for the woman. That Lady Alysanne Mormont had vouched for her made it all the harder to hate her.

Still, she was King Stannis‘ hostage and not Jon’s.

"I am here your grace. What do you wish to speak about?“

"The future,“ the King replied grimly. "And the rumors I that reached my ears regarding your sister.“

"I am right here, your grace,“ Arya replied and made no attempt to make a curtsy. Stannis‘ queen glared at his sister as if she was some odd creature from a fair. "What do you wish to know?“

King Stannis did not seem pleased with his sister’s jesting tone.

"They say you brought Ser Barristan Selmy here. A traitor and a turn cloak.“

Arya laughed. "I brought Ser Barristan Selmy here, but as far as I know he was dismissed from Joffrey’s service and chose another queen. I see no reason why you call him a turn cloak for choosing his loyalties freely.“

"He is my enemy,“ King Stannis grumbled and leaned on the table. "And you brought him here, my lady.“

"I am no lady and he came here with me because Queen Daenerys assigned him to protect me. Would you have preferred if I was kidnapped along the way?“

Jon had a hard time holding back a laugh. Even Asha Greyjoy smiling a little.

"Forgive my sister,“ Jon added quickly and touched her shoulder. "She is just speaking her mind and I agree with her this time. Ser Barristan did us a great service. He brought my sister here. You will have to accept his presence here, your grace.“

"And I shall,“ the King grumbled angrily. "For the sake of my crown.“

His sharp blue eyes met Jon’s. "Have you finally made a decision? Who will be the King in the North or its Lord?“

"Most of my father’s lords would prefer a King,“ Jon replied bluntly. There was no use in hiding the truth. "Yet, none of them care about the Targaryen Pretender in the south. There is no one here who sees you as an enemy, your grace.“

"And no one who sees me as their king either,“ Stannis Baratheon snorted. "That is why I ask you again, Lord Snow. Wed the Wildling Princess and unite the Free Folk behind you. They surpass the Lords of the North in numbers and you could force your will upon them. In exchange, I only ask you to help me to retake my rightful crown. I am not the kindest of men, but I am loyal to those who serve me. I could help the North. I doubt you have forgotten that I was the only one who came to help the North.“

It was all true, but Jon doubted his opinion mattered. His heart warmed at the idea of marrying Val and the idea of a crown roused long-buried ambitions inside him, but he was neither a King nor would Val ever be interested in what Stannis is offering him.

The Free Folk were different. Titles had no meaning to them.

"Mance is still alive,“ Jon reminded King Stannis. "They will not choose me over him just by bedding one of their own. Titles mean nothing to the Free Folk.“

"Mance is a dead man walking,“ King Stannis argued. "And you are already with the Wilding Princess. I do not understand your refusal. You are worse than my brother Renly.“

"I am simply stating the truth,“ Jon replied. "I cannot be the King of the Free Folk and you cannot be the King over the North. We can only work together…as allies.“

"You could still be the Lord of the North,“ King Stannis added coldly. "I offered you the title before.“

"And I refuse again,“ Jon replied. He was sick and tired of these discussions. "I cannot force my will upon the North. That is the purpose of this Great Council. The Lords will decide.“

With these last words, Jon had left King Stannis and went to retire to his chamber for a while Arya went off to explore the castle.

Val joined him there and was already smiling when she noticed that they were alone. Her gown was off within the blink of a moment and soon enough Jon found himself kneeling between her legs, tasting her sweet fruit. Afterward, she mounted him and for the rest of the evening, he forgot about his problems.

"King Stannis wanted to make me the King of the Freefolk,“ Jon laughed as he rose from his bed to dress. He was about to meet with Ser Barristan. "And you my queen. What do you think of that?“

Val laughed, her naked legs dangling behind her as she watched Jon from the bed.

"My sister was Mance’s queen, but she did not do anything else than any other wife does. Knitting his smelly socks, cooking, and bearing his children. I am not good at any of these things, Jon.“

Jon furrowed his brows at the sad tone in her voice. "I didn’t mean to insult you nor do I expect you to be anything because I doubt they will accept me as King.“

Val nodded and pulled the bedding around her shoulders. "Good, because am not fond of babes, Jon. I watched my mother die in childbirth and now I lost my sister that way. My nephew is in the hands of one of Craster’s daughters, but one day he will return, and then he will need me. I cannot risk that…even if Mance recovers.“

Jon had never thought about it that way, but it made sense.

He walked back to the bed and touched her cheek. "I never wanted to father a bastard…I don’t expect any of such things from you.“

It was a lie, but sometimes it was easier to lie than to speak the truth.

Val smiled and kissed him and then they realized that they were not finished after all.

It was Arya who came to get him for supper. She did not comment on his state of attire nor did she seem displeased with Val. They exchanged some pleasantries about Wilding's life before Jon was called to meet with Ser Barristan Selmy.

Jon did not meet with him in the Great Hall but in his chamber.

It was the first time, he met Ser Barristan the Bold. He was an old man, but still athletic in build, his beard white lie snow, but his blue eyes shining with vigor.

He smiled when he laid eye on son Jon and seemed very pleased to see him.

"I thank you for speaking with me, Lord Snow,“ the knight replied and fell back into his chair, rubbing his hands together. "My queen will appreciate it.“

"Your queen was very kind to send you here with my sister,“ Jon replied and sat down across the old man. "But I fear I cannot do much for her. I have neither a crown nor power. The North is divided and I doubt anyone here would be interested in making another Targaryen their overlord.“

"There are two Targaryen claimants,“ Ser Barristan replied. "But this Aegon must be a pretender. My queen…she has three dragons…she is Aegon’s true successor and not only that…she is kind and brave and she would protect the North with all her power.“

"Arya told me all that,“ Jon told Ser Barristan. "But as I said…I have no power.“

"You could at least meet with her,“ Ser Barristan suggested."She would be delighted to meet Lady Arya’s brother. She heard much about you.“

Jon was somewhat startled by that answer. Gods, what did Arya tell her?“

But Ser Barristan was not wrong. Jon might not be a King, but the true enemy was still lurking beyond the Wall.

The Others.

And how good it would be to have dragons. No, he could not throw away such a chance.

"I shall meet with her once the Great Council is over,“ Jon promised. "Not as a King of the North, but as Jon Snow. Can you agree with that?“

Ser Barristan gave a quiet nod. Jon could not say whether he was disappointed or angry, but there was a strange glint visible in his sad blue eyes.

"I cannot ask more than that, Lord Snow.“

…


	14. Daenerys

**Daenerys**

Dany returned to Dragonstone in low spirits, her mind still lost when she thought of the meeting with her nephew. No, her false nephew, she had to remind herself over and over again to make it easier to bear what she might have to do.

No, nothing is decided yet, she thought to herself as she watched Drogon fly circles over the towers of Dragonstone. He was a dark and terrifying castle, its walls protected by gargoyles, dragons, and other terrible beasts. It was here where she had been born, while a terrifying storm had vanquished the Targaryen fleet within the blink of a moment.

She had only been a little babe in her mother’s arms, barely born into this world when Ser William Darry had stolen her away to protect her from the usurper’s swords that had followed them all the way to Essos. For many years she had lived in fear of them, every waking hour of her brother spent with the search for shelter and food.

It was a time she did not want to remember.

 _If I look back I am lost_ , she reminded herself and climbed down the steps to enter the Chamber of the Painted Table.

The stone table showed the lands of Westeros. „Their home“ Viserys had referred to and had sold her to Khal Drogo in exchange for an army he had never been able to put to use. And while Dany had come to care for Khal Drogo, these days she could barely remember his face nor the moments of happiness she had shared with him.

Had she ever loved him, she couldn’t say anymore. The same with Daario, who had been more than cold towards her when she had left Meeren to sail for Westeros. When she had reminded him of her duty, he had only laughed and left her, probably to return to his many lovers.

This too had been another disappointment. And Hizdahr? Well, it was better not to speak about her second husband.

 _Once to bed, once to dread, and once for love_ , she remembered the words the Undying had given her when she had been their unwilling prisoner. Many more visions had assaulted her in this horrid place, visions of loveliness and horror. She had seen her brother and his wife, a wolfman at a wedding, and…and the mummer's dragon being cheered on by a crowd.

And a blue flower growing from a chink of ice. The sweet smell was still lingering in her nose. It felt, like walking through a long-forgotten dream.

"My false nephew is indeed a mummers dragon,“ she thought and brushed her hand over King’s Landing. Tyrion had placed small wooden pawns everywhere, marking the lands that belonged to them and to the enemy.

So far, they only had Dragonstone, but soon enough she hoped to have the Reach and perhaps even the Westerlands.

"There you are, your grace,“ she heard Tyrion Lannister’s voice echo behind her. He was a small man that was casting a very long shadow behind him. In his hands he held a candle, the light flickering as he entered the chamber, banishing away the darkness at once. "Have you been watching your dragon?“

"Drogon is well,“ she replied and moved closer. Lord Tyrion placed the candle atop the table and frowned when he noticed that Dany was garbed in her nightgown, her naked shoulders only covered with a cloak. „But he misses his brothers.“

"There was a time I missed my brother as well,“ Tyrion replied. „I was a boy and he became a member of the Kingsguard because of my sister’s plotting.“

"Truly,“ Dany couldn’t help but be intrigued. Lord Tyrion spoke rarely about his family and when he did not with particular fondness. "That is interesting. What did your sister do?“

"They sent a letter to your father King Aerys. Naturally, the King agreed, because he hated my father, and by making Jaime a member of the Kingsguard he could get back at him. Jaime was of course delighted…until he actually served in your father’s court.“

Dany shuddered when she thought of her father. There things she had never wanted to know about him.

"Why did Lord Tywin hate my father so much?“ Dany asked and leaned on the stone tablet.

"Because of my mother,“ Tyrion replied. "King Aerys desired my mother.“

Dany was not as shocked as Viserys would have been. He had always deluded himself into thinking that their mother had worshipped their father.

"I see.“

"My mother rejected King Aerys,“ Tyrion replied. "But that was not the only insult. My father dreamed of uniting House Targaryen and House Lannister for so long, but again your father rejected him.“

Dany nodded her head. "Your father was not satisfied with the position he had.“

"My father was a man of never-ending ambitions,“ Tyrion agreed. "But please do not fret about it. Your father is dead and gone.“

"Yet, he left me his legacy. Even my false nephew is using it against me. I did not think it possible.“

"This is all Varys ploy,“ Tyrion explained and stepped closer. He lifted his arm, probably in an attempt to touch her shoulder, but Dany pulled it away. She had seen the dwarf stare at her at times with the same hungry gaze as her bear. It did not feel right. "He is a clever man. You should not underestimate him.“

"I made an offer to my false nephew,“ she replied and smiled at her own foolishness. "I told him that I would believe him if he managed to tame a dragon. Yet, I only have one dragon. Drogon.“

Tyrion grimaced. "That was indeed foolish.“

Dany laughed almost and brushed her hair out of her face. "You know, my lord Lannister…that is what I like about you. You are always honest with me. I cannot complain about that.“

"Then, let me be honest with you again, your grace.“

"Speak,“ Dany replied and leaned on her hands, watching the dwarf with interest.“What you have to say.“

"Do not hesitate to kill him. Without him, there is no one else who can take the crown. The high lords might be unhappy about a woman ruling over them, but they will forget about their hesitance quick enough if you show them your dragons.“

"First, I need to save my dragons. I know what I must do…I will kill this Victarion or Euron Greyjoy.“

"The rumors say that Victarion Grejoy is dead, your grace,“ Lord Tyrion replied. "And that Euron Greyjoy defeated the Redwyne Fleet.“

This was the first time, Dany had heard about this.

"This Euron Greyjoy defeated a fleet that large? But Ser Loras assured…,“ she began, but Tyrion cut her off.

"Ser Loras is a boy. Besides, no one can say what really happened in Oldtown. There are only rumors.“

Dany nodded her head, an uncomfortable feeling washing over her. She felt afraid of facing this Euron Greyjoy, but she also wanted to save her children.

The only children she would ever have. It was the only way.

"You have my agreement to sail for Casterly Rock,“ Dany told Lord Tyrion and rose to her feet. "The rest of my fleet will sail for Oldtown. I shall make this Euron pay for his crimes.“

Tyrion did not smile. He simply nodded his head. She could tell that he was pleased.

"I will bring you the Westerlands, your grace. And my sister’s head if it pleases you.“

Dany shook her head. "I want her alive.“

…


	15. Jon

**Jon**

Winterfell was bustling with activity, but Jon felt alone whenever Arya was not with him. Today, she had ridden out with the Val and the other Wildlings to hunt, a task he knew his sister would enjoy. That Rickon and Osha had joined them as well had only helped to encourage her even more.

Jon knew she was desperate to form a bond with their younger brother, but he doubted it would be that easy. Rickon had changed as much as Arya herself.

Jon still recalled her as a gangly little girl with always disheveled hair, but now she was almost a woman grown and had lost the awkwardness.

She had even grown quite pretty. Maybe not in a conventional way, but he was sure she would have many admirers in the future, though some might only be interested in her because of her high birth.

Not that he was afraid for Arya. She knew to handle herself as her adventures had proven.

Ghost’s howl accompanied the sound of clopping horse hooves that could be heard from afar.

Jon had known that the Crannogmen would today, but even so, he was strangely anxious to speak with a man he that his father he had always called his best of friends.

Lord Howland Reed was his name and he had saved his father’s life during the rebellion or so he had claimed. He had never told them the entire tale, but he knew that several men had perished in Dorne and that Lord Stark had not even able to bring them home. Lady Dustin had never forgiven him for it.

What secrets were you hiding, he wondered and climbed down the steps. It was only then that he noticed that the crannogmen had not come alone.

There were two familiar faces among them. A Lord and a Lady that were supposed to be dead.

Lady Maege Mormont, who looked much older than he remembered her, and Galbart Glover, whose ear looked slightly frozen from the sharp wind.

Jon did not hesitate to greet them. He was relieved to see that they had survived.

"You are very welcome, Lord Reed,“ he greeted the elderly man seated atop a hairy pony. He wore brown-and-green leather and his once brown hair sported shades of grey. When Jon looked into his eyes he was immediately startled by his bright green eyes. He did not smile but simply stare at Jon. „I am…,“ he began, but Lord Reed cut him off.

"You are Jon Snow. Ned told me much about you.“

Jon was speechless and surprised that his father would tell Lord Reed about him, but then he might have known his mother.

"He did?“ Jon asked curiously, hoping the crannogman would give him some more information. "I am surprised. A bastard is not really something to be proud of.“

"Ned wrote me regularly…about his entire family,“ Lord Reed replied. "We were old friends after all.“

Jon was disappointed by his tongue-tied behavior. Still, he couldn’t be impolite to a man who had saved his father’s life.

"I am glad that my father had such a good friend,“ he added and waved his hand at the stable boys that were ready to attend to him. "I wish he was here with us.“

It was the first time, Jon saw Lord Reed smile. "I wish for that as well. I am now the only one left…,“ he trailed off before he shifted his attention to his traveling companions.

He laughed. "You better go to attend to Lady Maege and Lord Glover. They are interested in speaking to you about an important matter.“

Jon nodded his head and shifted his attention to the Lord and Lady whom he had completely ignored on behalf of his curiosity towards Lord Howland Reed.

"My Lady Mormont,“ he greeted her with a bow. "I am glad to see you alive. Your daughter Alysanne was a great help in the last weeks. She supported us with all her strength in our struggle against the Boltons.“

"The Boltons are all dead or so we heard?“ Lord Galbart asked. He sounded pleased by the idea. "We only heard of a battle.“

"Aye,“ Jon confirmed. „There was a battle at the Dreadfort. The Wildlings, the Northmen, and King Stannis‘ men defeated the Boltons. The castle was sacked and Ramsay Snow was killed in battle. Ghost tore out his neck. We fed him to the dogs afterward for his crime against Lady Hornwood and Lady Jeyne Poole. For sure, I would have preferred to give him a more cruel death.“

"Better to bury this demon forever,“ Lady Maege nodded her head. "But I am surprised…Lady Jeyne is alive?“

"She was Ramsay’s bride,“ Jon replied and gritted his teeth. "They pretended that she was Arya. She suffered horribly at the hands of the bastard. That’s why I left her at Last Hearth. She doesn’t want to come back to Winterfell. It’s all really sad.“

"But they say your sister is alive?“ Lord Galbart asked. "We heard so much from Lord Reed’s letter."

“That is true as well,“ Jon confirmed. „She returned only recently…like Rickon.“

They all looked stunned.

"Rickon Stark is still alive?“ Lady Maege asked and exchanged a strange look with Lord Galbart. "Are you sure?“

"I am sure,“ Jon replied and was confused by their behavior. „But he is not…he spent the last two years in hiding. In Skagos and there he was turned into half a Wildling. He might not be very receptive to a visit. In truth, he might not even speak to you in the Common Tongue.“

Lady Maege and Lord Glover exchanged another strange look but said even less.

"I must see my daughter,“ she said and smiled. "I have missed her.“

"And I have need of a warm fire,“ Lord Glover replied. "I feel half frozen.“

Jon was not surprised. "You will be brought to your chambers, but I fear we are all a bit stuffed so close to the full moon. Everyone has already arrived…Even Lady Dustin.“

Lady Mormont grunted with laughter. "That uptight bitch is here? I thought she sided with the Boltons?“

"She was always playing Roose Bolton,“ Jon explained. "During the battle of the Dreadfort her men turned against Ramsay. Knowing her she would have gladly slit Ramsay Snow’s head herself. She even asked me to give her his head so she could decorate her chamber with his skull. She truly is a rather scary lady.“

Lady Mormont laughed. "That sounds like her. I shall be pleased to meet her during the council. As for us, I had hoped we could speak alone, Lord Snow.“

Jon nodded his head. "Is this about Lord Commander Mormont? I knew him well. He was a good man.“

Lady Maege smiled warmly. "Not about him. Now please excuse me, Lord Snow.

She left soon after and Lord Glover was shown inside by Jon himself. The man was anxious to get warm and spent the rest of the evening rubbing his hands over the kindling flames of the heart in the great hall.

Jon asked the servants to also bring them a cup of mulled wine, a courtesy he appreciated.

"You have grown much,“ he remarked as he looked up from his seat. "The last time, I saw you you were just a young boy throwing snowballs at your brothers. You always resembled Lord Stark…more so than the trueborn sons' Lady Stark had borne him…may she rest in peace.“

Jon felt discomfort washing over him when he thought of Lady Stark. It had been so long ago that he had last thought about her, but only the mention of her name made his body feel tense like a bowstring.

"May she rest in peace,“ Jon agreed and took a sip from his cup. "But why bring her up? I never cared much about that…But it is true, I suppose she was insulted by the resemblance.“

"Any woman would be insulted,“ Lord Galbart replied. "To be honest, none of us ever understood why Ned had you raised in Winterfell and didn’t just foster you at another place. Most of us would have gladly taken you in.“

Jon had wondered that as well, but then his father had not even told him about his mother.

"Perhaps he was afraid one of these lords would put ideas into my head.“

Lord Galbart smiled. "Perhaps, but the only one who might have done such a thing was Roose Bolton and Ned never liked the man one bit. Lord Rickard and his predecessors should have wiped them out a long time ago. Then, maybe your brother would still be with us.“

Jon wasn’t so sure about that, but he didn’t want to contradict Lord Galbart.

"My father is dead and gone,“ Jon replied and rose to his feet. "And I must attend to my duties. I hope we can speak later in private. I am sure Arya will be pleased to meet you as well.“

With these words, Jon had left to return to his duties. Mostly, accounts and an inspection of the on-going repairs. The Giants were a great help, but even then it would take years before Winterfell looked as it had been before his departure.

I should have never left, he thought whenever he touched a black scorch mark on the walls. Then, maybe Robb would have lived.

The night had fallen when Arya returned in the company of Val and Rickon. They had caught a string of hares and seemed all-around cheerful. Jon was not surprised that the two of them were taken with each other. There were so similar in many ways.

"You are late,“ Jon said and laughed when the snow melted away in Arya’s hair. "What kept you so long?“

"We nearly killed a stag,“ Arya explained with amusement. "Rickon managed to hit it, but Shaggy chased it away.“

Rickon frowned, all red-faced like a newborn babe as he slung three rabbits over his shoulder.

„Shaggy was hunting it,“ he complained. "You two scared it. It could smell you. That’s why we wear pelts in Skagos. The animals cannot distinguish the smell if you smell like them.“

Jon was not surprised. In his thick furs and with his unruly hair his brother looked like a wild beast himself.

"We shall try that next time,“ Arya added amused, and ruffled her hand through Rickon’s hair. "But then I never liked stags anyway.“

"The hares are welcome,“ Jon replied. "We shall have a fine stew for our guests. Lord Reed brought back Lady Maege and Lord Galbert Glover. They wish to dine with us in private.“

Arya gave him a surprised look. "I see. I better take a bath…I smell.“

Jon laughed. His sister had always loved the hot springs. "Then, you ought to hurry. It is getting late."

„So, more kneeler lords have come?“ Val asked as she pulled off her thick pelt. „Will it ever end?“

"These were the last ones I think,“ Jon replied and was looking forward to the time when these lords would leave again and return home to prepare for winter. Then, he might be able to finally address the matter of Daenerys Targaryen as he had promised both Ser Barristan and Arya. "Do you mind?“

Val shook her head and wrapped his hands around his shoulder. She snuggled close. It was the first time he had seen her do that.

"Are you well?“ he asked her and touched played with her lock of hair. "Are you perhaps cold?“

Val bared her teeth. "Perhaps, we ought to join your sister in the hot springs.“

Jon pulled his hand away. "She is my bloody sister!“

Val roared with laughter and let go of him. "I was just teasing you, Jon.“

Jon felt still a little flustered when he returned to attend to Lady Maege and Lord Glabart Glover. Surprisingly, Lord Reed had joined them as well.

"What a surprise,“ he said and quickly asked one of the servants to bring a bowl and a cup for Lord Reed. "I thought you wanted to speak alone with me?“

"Lord Reed asked to join,“ Lady Maege added kindly and dipped her bread into the thick stew. It smelled good, but Jon felt rarely hungry. It had been like this since he had been reborn in Lady Melisandre’s flames. "We could not refuse him after he protected us for all these moons of uncertainty.“

Jon nodded his head and was relieved when he saw Arya. She had changed into clean clothing and her hair was freshly-braided.

They all stared at her as if she was an appearance.

"Lady Stark. It is a pleasure to find you alive and well,“ Lord Glover was the first one to say.

"I can only agree,“ Lady Mormont mumbled her agreement. Her mouth was filled with stew. "We are glad to have you back.“

Only Lord Reed was utterly silent. He looked as if he had just seen a ghost.

"I thank you, my lords and lady,“ she replied and sat down beside Jon. "I have been away for a long time.“

"Your brother told us,“ Lord Galbart added while Lord Reed beside him was still staring at Arya.

Arya noticed it as well and flashed Lord Reed a disarming smile.

"Do I have something on my face?“

Lord Reed shook his head, his face ashen pale. „No…No, there is nothing wrong with your face, my lady. You just look so much like her…,“ he trailed off and grabbed the cup in front of him as if to anchor himself.

He drank deeply before regaining his speech. „Your aunt Lyanna. I knew her. She was my friend too.“

Jon was surprised by this revelation. He had never heard about this before. "I assume you met her before the Rebellion?“

Lord Reed nodded his head. "I met her at Harrenhall.“

That answered the question.

"Well, I doubt that is the reason you came here,“ Jon added hesitatingly. "What is it you wish to speak about?“

Galbart Glover and Lady Maege exchanged another silent look before Lord Galbart slipped his hand into the vest of his cloak to pull out a folded piece of parchment.

Jon was even more confused when he saw the direwolf crest.

"This is King Robb’s will,“ Lady Maege explained and pointed at the piece of parchment as if she was telling Jon to open it.

Jon did not know what to say and looked at Lord Galbart Glover.

"Your brother named an heir before he died,“ he added and pushed the piece of paper over the table. „You.“

Jon did not believe his ears. His heartbeat was pounding so loudly, he could barely hear anything around him as ripped off the wax seal with his knife and began to read.

The words were all blurred and jumbled even after he had read it a good dozen times.

He reread the words once more and put the parchment away.

Then, he exhaled deeply and watched as Arya read the parchment herself.

When she was done, she smiled warmly.

"There you have it, Jon. It is as it is supposed to be. There is no need for this great council anymore.“

Jon shook his head. "Robb made this will because he believed you all dead…,“ he countered, but Arya cut him off.

"We have already spoken about this…Rickon is a child and I don’t want to be Queen. You are the best choice. If we were at peace, I would agree, but the Norther has never been weaker. We need a proper line of command. You know how to rule…you were the Lord Commander.“

"A post I failed at,“ he replied bitterly. "Remember what I told you.“

"I do,“ Arya replied and cut him off. "And you should not deny Robb’s will. Bastard or not, Robb legitimized you. To him, you were always like his trueborn brother.“

"That may be true,“ Jon replied and shook his head. „But the Lords of the North might not think about it that way.“

…


	16. Arya

**Arya**

Arya had known that Jeyne Poole was still alive, but it surprised her when she arrived on the day before the Great Council in the company of a handful of wildlings and the Crowfoot. Jon had told her that she had suffered terribly at the Hand of Ramsay Bolton and that he had left her at the Last Hearth to shield her from the pitiful looks she would receive in Winterfell.

Just by looking at her Arya could see that she was a broken girl. She had seen many of such girls in Braavos, who had come to the House of Black and White to forget their woes or give themselves over to the God of Death.

 _I was such a girl_ , she reminded herself. _A girl with a hole in her heart._

Yet, for all her bravery Arya had not been able to bring herself to speak to Jeyne all day long. Only Jon had done so, but not for long before he had returned to attend to his many duties.

Now the sun was already disappearing behind walls of Winterfell and she had still not managed to gather the courage to speak to the girl that carried her name and had been abused by Ramsay Bolton.

Jeyne was not alone in her chamber when Arya found her. She was in the company of two spear wives who looked more dangerous than Winterfell’s guard.

"Arya,“ Jeyne said and looked quite startled. "Jon told me that you are alive…I was surprised.“

She had said this with a trembling voice, the tip of her nose blackened from her travel to the Wall. Thi Jon had told her as well.

The sight was not the most terrible thing Arya had ever seen, but Jeyne Poole had always been a pretty girl. Not as pretty as Sansa, but much prettier than Arya at any day. Now she was marked forever because a monster had wanted to hurt her.

"I thought we might speak,“ Arya replied and remained standing at the door. "But if you are occupied…,“ she trailed off and eyed the pieces of fur and cloth littered everywhere. The Spear wives were all holding needles of sort and each working on a piece of cloth.

"I have time,“ Jeyne replied and said a handful of words to the spear wives. It was in the Old Tongue and Arya understood only bits and pieces. „But not for long. We want to get this done.“

Arya nodded her head and sat down across Jeyne.

Jeyne smiled hesitatingly and put the piece of cloth and the needle away. "We are making clothing for the men. They need it for the hunt.“

"I am aware,“ Arya replied and couldn’t help but to stare at her nose. "But that is not why I came.“

Jeyne blushed and covered her nose with both her hands. "I know, I look ugly.“

"You are not ugly,“ Arya replied. "It’s not different than having a scar.“

Jeyne nodded her head and dropped her hands back into her lap. "But men are not mocked for it…Well, the Wilding ladies do not seem to care and the men even less…but…but…,“ she stuttered and fell silent.

Arya could sense her distress and allowed her the time she needed to calm herself.

"There were some Wildling men…I think they do not care,“ Jeyne replied and eyed Arya with envy. "Well, perhaps I got my rightful punishment for always mistreating you. Sansa and eye always called you all these horrible names….It was not right.“

Arya was baffled to hear such nonsense and quickly took her hand in hers.

"That’s nonsense. We were nothing but stupid children. What happened to you…I would wish that upon no one.“

Jeyne trembled and looked up again, her dark-brown eyes wet with tears. "Theon was the only one who understood because Ramsay had hurt him even more, but King Stannis executed him. Now, I have no one.“

"Ramsay is dead,“ Arya countered. "Jon told me how he died. Does that not help you?“

Jeyne shook her head. "I thought it would, but I don’t think I can ever be normal again. I cannot even look at a man…I am all broken on the inside. At times, I wish I was dead.“

Arya had not spoken. Instead, she had allowed Jeyne to speak. She had learned that in the House of Black and White.

To listen.

It was this silence that made an idea bloom inside her mind.

"I could help you with that,“ Arya offered without hesitation. "I learned it in Braavos. It is some kind of poison, but not to kill…only to remove certain memories. It would be painful and it certainly cannot remove all memories…How long were you with Ramsay Bolton?“

Jeyne eyed her with wide eyes, her mouth falling open.

"Three moons,“ she replied at last. "I counted every single day.“

Arya swallowed hard. "Well, I can prepare this poison. It could help you…you could look at men again.“

"Before I was given to Ramsay I was sent to one of Baelish’s brothels…they broke me long before they gave me to Ramsay, but…but…but…most of all I want to forget about him.“

Arya was surprised by her agreement.

"I can make it,“ she repeated again. "But you should not drink unless you are really certain.“

Jeyne nodded her head and leaned forward to embrace Arya.

Arya expected her to cry, but she didn’t.

"You have grown so much,“ the other girl said. "And I am glad you came back instead of Sansa. If I saw her now I would most likely scratch out her face.“

Arya was shocked to hear this, but given what Jeyne had been through it was hard to blame her. She probably needed someone to blame her.

"You have more reason to hate me…after all they gave you my name.“

"That’s not why,“ Jeyne replied. "Sansa is a traitor. She betrayed us all and got everyone killed. She was the one who sold out your father’s plans to the queen. All for her precious Joffrey.“

Arya was shocked. There was anger and confusion quarreling inside her heart, but she also recalled that she had wanted to leave her grudge behind her. To hate Sansa would make it only harder.

And she was probably anyway. There was no point in holding a grudge against the dead.

"Sansa was a foolish child,“ Arya replied. "Blinded by her dreams of becoming queen and the nonsense my mother put into her head. She is dead and gone now, but she was still my sister. You ought to forgive her…for the sake of your sanity. There is nothing more poisoning than a heart filled with revenge.“

Jeyne said nothing. She simply looked away. "I think you should leave now Arya. I must continue with my work. I shall attend the Great Council on the morrow and then we can speak about your poison once more.“

Arya nodded her head and rose to her feet. She was about to leave when she heard Jeyne’s voice.

"Where have you really been all this time, Arya?“

Arya turned back around.

"I shall tell you one day,“ she promised. „Now continue with your work. We all need warmer clothing.“

Jeyne gave her a hint of a smile. "I am glad to hear that from someone who always hated Septa Mordane’s lessons.“

"The Septa’s stitching lessons were horrible,“ Arya grimaced. "But by now even I have learned to use a needle. I had to mend my own clothing during my travels.“

Jeyne chuckled lightly. "I always pretended to like stitching for Sansa’s sake.“

She offered Arya the needle.

"Do you want to show your skill?“

Arya laughed. "Nothing would please me more.“

…


	17. Sansa

They reached the Mountains of the Moon after a three-days ride over scraggy rocks and through sopping rain. Harry had complained endlessly, but Sansa had long resigned herself to her fate. There was no turning back now. Only the future.

"Why did you stop, Sansa?“ Harry asked as he led his horse beside hers. "Is something amiss?“

Sansa pulled down the hood of her cloak and looked around. Her husband looked as miserable as he had yesterday, but that was no surprise.

The last two days, it had not only rained but also snowed. Winter was coming or so Sansa believed and the people of the south were not prepared for it.

They would soon all feel like her husband. Shivering and afraid of the darkness that was to come.

Yet, it was the only sort of amusement that was afforded to her. To see Harry suffer for what he had done to her.

"You are a fine knight, aren’t you?“ she teased him and gave her palfrey horse a light nudge to continue down the rocky path that was crusted with snow and icy. „Does this bit of snow bother you so much?“

Harry snorted and picked up the pace. His breath was rising into the air in plumes of white smoke. He reminded Arya of an angry dragon.

"I was not born in the North.“

Sansa smiled. "And yet you want to become the King in the North?“

"Of course,“ Harry replied as if there had never been any doubt about it. "The North needs the Vale more than the Vale the North. Your brother got himself and his entire family killed. Now, it is up to us to retake what was lost. It is only natural that your husband would rule in your stead."

Sansa kept her anger at bay, by thinking how sweet it would be to return home. She also doubted her father’s bannermen would just bow down to this vain lordling.

She had even more doubts that they would accept her as their queen…

 _No_ , she reminded herself. I am the only surviving child. _I am the only heir._

"What do you say to hat, lady wife?“ Harry asked once more, a hint of mockery in his voice. "Do you agree?“

Sansa gave him a feigned smile. She only needed to get her to Winterfell and to rid herself of Littlefinger.

"Of course, dear husband.“

It was not long after their quarrel, that they rode through the Gates of the Moon. The sky was already darkening, promising the arrival of the night. It’s herald, a handful of flickering stars could already be seen littering the distant horizon.

Sansa hoped to find some sort of relief to make it back here alive, but the contrary was the case. Her body was tense like a bowstring and her heart was filled with fear she could not describe.

"My lady!“ a bright and familiar voice greeted her from afar. "The Seven be blessed! You are alive!“

Sansa exhaled in excitement as she realized that it was Myranda.

"Randa,“ she said breathlessly and climbed from her saddle. Her legs were weak and trembling. She hugged the other girl without hesitation. "I am so glad to be back.“

Randa chuckled and pulled back. She was grinning at Sansa. „You are a fine mummer! You were Sansa Stark all along!“

Sansa returned her smile and touched her hair. It was still a little dark from the paint.

"I am sorry for my lies…but there was no other way…,“ she began, but Randa pulled her along, ignoring Harry’s protest. "Come, let us not speak here.“

Sansa was glad for it and soon after she found herself up the steps and in Randa’s chamber, the door closed behind her. Randa helped her pull off her dirty clothes and offered her a new dress. Once, they were done, Randa had Sansa sit down before the heart while she brushed out her wet hair.

"Harry will not be pleased,“ Sansa replied and rubbed her hands over the warm fire. "That you dragged me away like this.“

Randa gave her a tight smile. "Harry must be quite eager to marry you now.“

Sansa couldn’t help but notice the change of tone in Randa’s voice.

"We are wed,“ she added hesitatingly. "At the Quiet Isle. I wish you could have been there.“

Randa smiled but was seemingly unhappy about this new development.

Sansa quickly took her hands, trying to keep her in place. "I am sorry…I know you liked him…,“ she began, but Randa cut her off.

"That’s not the only reason,“ Randa explained and crossed her arms in front of her. She looked angry. "But you don’t even love him, don’t you? You never did. You just want to take back Winterfell. That’s what Lord Baelish told us. So, it is all true, isn’t it?“

Sansa couldn’t make sense of it all and wanted to ask Randa more questions, but the young woman was already out of reach, making her way to the door.

"You can stay here to rest,“ Randa replied. "On the morrow, you will hear everything that has transpired in your absence, my lady.“

"Randa,“ Sansa shouted once more, but it was no use. Randa had already closed the door behind her.

Sansa, who was still confused by Randa’s sudden change of heart, pulled herself back to the featherbed and sat down. Suddenly, her bones felt incredibly heavy and she wanted to do nothing more than to sleep.

Yawning, she pulled off her dress and lay down. Her head had barely touched the pillow before she had fallen into a deep sleep.

No dreams assaulted her that night, but when she woke in the morning she felt cold and lonely. The sun was not even visible through the dark clouds that morning, but it was not as cold as the night before.

Sansa didn’t even shiver as she washed and put back on the fresh dress Randa had given her.

Her hair took a while to tame, but then she preferred doing it alone. Lord Baelish's girls would just be spying on her. She knew so much.

It was the tapping on the door that announced her husband’s sudden arrival. Harry frowned when he took in her appearance.

"You look well.“

Sansa forced a smile over her lips and straightened herself. "You as well a good morning, husband.“

Harry snorted and closed the door behind him. "We must speak.“

Sansa nodded her head and sat down on the bed as she was pulling her flippers on her dainty feet.

"Speak and I will listen.“

"Has Lady Royce told you about Robert?“

Sansa looked up, her right slipper nearly falling off. "Robert?“

"Sweetrobin,“ Harry replied. "He is dead. He perished a handful of days ago. May the seven bless his soul.“

Sansa felt as if someone had dealt her a heavy blow. Only moons ago, she had been caring for him and telling him stories.

He had only been eight years old, a bit younger than Bran.

A boy.

And she had allowed Littlefinger to kill him.

"Littlefinger killed him,“ She gasped and clutched her chest. "And I…I didn’t stop him…,“ she trailed off.

The touch of Harry’s hand on her shoulder made her look up once more. She saw no hint of sadness in his face.

Sansa felt disgusted for his lack of pretense, but then she had not cared about her cousin either. On the contrary, she had complained about his constant presence.

Now, she felt the sharp sting of guilt.

"You look so pale,“ Harry remarked and touched her cheek with the back of his hand. His hand felt as cold as was his icy heart. "Good. We must keep up appearances. Until we have rid ourselves of Littlefinger and have control over the Vale.“

Sansa shuddered and backed away. Quickly, she leaned down and put the slipper where it belonged.

She was about to take the next step when a strange kind of dizziness washed over her.

"Are you well?“ Harry asked her and grabbed her arm, steadying her.

Sansa gritted her teeth. "I will only be well once this madness is over.“

Harry said nothing to that and together they went to face Lord Baelish.

Lord Baelish’s face was unreadable as ever when they entered the solar. His grey-green eyes were smiling as ever, as he saw her standing beside Harry.

Was this his plan all along?

She couldn’t say.

"Sansa,“ he said and bridged the distance, the eyes of a dozen others fixed on them. "You are alive!“

Sansa allowed him to embrace and kiss her brow. She was no longer Alayne, but it was quite clear that he wanted to give the appearance of unity.

Sansa swallowed hard and noticed the presence of Lord Royce. The old grey-haired man frowned at her change of appearance.“

"So, it is true,“ he said and eyed Sansa closely. "You were Sansa Stark after all? Your face was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it…,“ he trailed off.

Sansa smiled. "I had to hide my identity. It was necessary. But now there will be no more lies.“

"Indeed,“ Lord Belmore added gruffly. "No more lies. Only the truth.“

Harry noticed the change of tone and flashed the man an angry glare. "What are you trying to imply, my lord?“

"Isn’t that quite clear?“ asked Symon Tempelton. "You and Lady Sansa…you profited the most from Lord Robin’s death.“

Sansa couldn’t believe her ears and turned back to Lord Royce and Lord Baelish.

"What is he saying?“

Lord Royce opened his mouth, but Harry interrupted them before he could speak.

"Where is Lady Waynwood? What game are you playing, Baelish?“

Petyr Baelish's smile was as bright as a star.

"You heard right, my lord. You and Lady Sansa are accused of killing Lord Robert.“

…


End file.
